


Books and their Covers

by sneetchstar



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, F/M, Foot Fetish, Love at First Sight, Punk AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:22:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 180,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: A 1970s Merlin AU.  Arthur and the knights are punks, but they're still knights.





	1. Chapter 1

London, summer 1977

 _I hope those ruffians aren't loitering around again. I hate walking past them,_ Gwen thinks as she walks down the street, on her way home from some Saturday morning shopping. Her bag in her arms with some groceries from the market; she rounds the corner and surveys the street ahead of her.

_They're there. The five of them on one side. On the other, one man on a bench, reading a newspaper. I think I'll stay on newspaper man's side. If nothing else, I won't have to walk through that cloud of cigarette smoke._

She proceeds up the street, enjoying the morning sun on her shoulders, thinking about her plans for the day, her little brunch she's going to go home and make, her brother far away in America…

"Well, well, what have we here?" The seemingly innocuous man with the newspaper is now blocking her path.

"Excuse me," she says, stepping to the side, trying to pass.

"Don't be rude, darlin', I'm tryin' to talk to you, is all," the man says, stepping with her to block her path again.

Gwen swallows uncertainly, looking up at him. _He's big. Kind of scary._

"I'm sorry, I… I need to get my groceries home," she tries again, sidestepping once more to no avail.

"Don't be like that, love, I just want to get to know you better," he says, reaching his hand out to touch her cheek.

She jerks her head away from him, scared, and tries to back up. She backs into another man. _He's not alone._

"Come now, doll, Helios and me, we just wanna be friends, ain't that right, Helios?" the second man coos greasily into her ear.

"Nah, Cenred, I think I wanna be _more_ than friends," Helios disagrees, stepping forward, closer. Gwen holds her shopping bag in front of her like a shield, but he rips it from her hands and drops it on the bench on which he had been sitting.

"Please don't touch me," she begs, tears welling in her eyes.

"Darlin', I intend to do _more_ than just touch you," he says, his voice a growl as he closes in on her.

"That's it," one of the five across the street makes up his mind and starts crossing. They noticed the situation shortly after she backed into Cenred.

"There he goes," one of his companions remarks, rolling his eyes.

Halfway across the street, he sees the small woman raise her knee sharply into Helios' groin. He grins as he watches the large man drop to the bench, doubled over, his hands clutching himself.

"Oh!" Gwen cries out as Cenred spins her around. He reaches back and slaps her. Hard.

Gwen's hand flies to her stinging cheek, soundless sobs wracking her just as Cenred is bodily flung away from her. She gasps in shock. _What now?_

"Oi, Cenred, ain't your mum taught you any manners? You do not hit a lady," a third voice says, but Gwen cannot make him out through her tears. He is just a black blur.

"Yeah, and what are you going to do about it, Drag?" Cenred spits back.

Gwen hears the squelchy crunch of a nose being broken by a well-aimed fist.

"Stay down or I'll crush your hand under my boot here. You won't be able to have a proper wank for at least a month."

"Piss off, Drag," Helios croaks from his spot on the bench, where he is slowly recovering.

"Helios, if you have a brain in that big bald head o' yours, you'll keep your gob shut before I make sure your bollocks are permanently wedged inside your body cavity," the man says, smacking Helios on the back of the head before retrieving Gwen's shopping from the bench.

He carefully approaches Gwen and gently pulls her away from her two assailants. "Are you all right, miss?" he asks, the tone of his voice changing from razors to velvet, his hand warm and comforting on her elbow, where his thumb absentmindedly strokes the soft flesh there.

"I… I think so, mostly just scared. Thank you…"

"Drag," he supplies. _She's trembling. But I don't want to scare her further by putting my arms around her._

She wipes her eyes and looks at him. _He's one of the ruffians I'd been avoiding. Punks._ She surveys him quickly, noting his low-slung torn black jeans with a wide belt dotted with silver studs, his black t-shirt emblazoned with _The Sex Pistols_ across the front, his pierced ears and nose and a black Mohawk haircut. _Who pierces their nose?_

"Drag?" she asks, trying to distract herself, calm herself. _What an unfortunate name._

"Ain't my given name. It's from my last name, Pendragon."

"What's your real name?" she asks. _Why am I interested? He's just a punk._

"Arthur," he admits, pulling a face.

"Well, Arthur, I'm Guinevere. Most people call me Gwen." She wipes away her tears with the back of her hand and takes a deep breath.

"I like Guinevere much better," he says, a small half-smile curling the corner of his lips.

 _His full lips, lips that look very kissable. What?_ "Why did you help me?" she asks suddenly. "I'm sorry… I should just be thanking you, not asking why," she backtracks, embarrassed at the question. _His hand is still holding my elbow. I really just want him to hold me and tell me everything is all right. Too much to hope, probably._

"Helios and Cenred are a couple of tossers. I couldn't just stand there and watch them do that to you," he says. _Not to you. Of all people._

Arthur has noticed Gwen every time she has walked down the street over the past month. He has noticed her long dark curls glinting in the sunlight. He has noticed her dusky skin, skin that looks so soft and luxurious that he longs to touch it. All of it. He has noticed her slender, shapely limbs and lush curves. He has noticed that her smile makes the sun look gloomy. He has also noticed that she avoids him and his friends like the plague.

Time to put a stop to _that_ nonsense.

"How's your face?" he asks.

"It stings," she says, then gasps as Arthur reaches forward to wipe a dot of blood from the corner of her mouth. _Should his touch make my stomach flip like that?_

"Blood," he explains, showing her the evidence on his thumb, which has a silver ring on it. "If it makes you feel any better, I think I broke his nose," he smiles.

"I heard that," she manages a small smile.

"Can I… can I give you a lift home?" he asks.

"You don't have to, really, I'll be fine." _Yes, please._

"No, come on. Please," he asks. "I just want to know you've made it home safely," he adds, looking down at his feet.

 _He is actually very sweet,_ Gwen thinks, looking down at his feet as well. _Scuffed black combat boots. Of course._ "If you insist," she gives in.

"I do at that. Come on," he slides his hand down her forearm and takes her hand to lead her across to his friends. "I want you to meet my mates first. That way you won't feel like you have to walk on the other side of the street when we're about."

"Oh, I…" she stammers. _He noticed._

He laughs it off. "I understand, really. I mean, look at us. If I were you I'd probably do the same. But you know what they say about judging books by their covers."

 _Smart, too,_ she thinks, finding herself inexplicably drawn to this strange man. _There's something about him that makes me trust him. Like I know he won't let any harm come to me._

They reach the other four, who have been watching very intently since Arthur left them. "All right, you lot, best behavior," Arthur announces.

Gwen coughs as she approaches, the smell of cigarette smoke assaulting her lungs.

"Gwaine, put out that fag, will ya? Can't you see that our guest disapproves?" Arthur yanks the cigarette from his friend's lips and tosses it into the wet gutter, where it hisses, dead.

"Hey!" Gwaine protests.

"Lads, this is Guinevere," Arthur introduces her.

"Gwen," she corrects.

"Are you all right, Gwen?" one immediately asks, the concern plain on his face. He is tall and thin, with pale skin and bright blue eyes beneath black hair that is sticking out in spikes in every direction.

"I'll be fine, thanks to Ar— Drag," she says, catching herself. _Don't want to embarrass him in front of his mates._

"I'm Merlin," he says, holding out his hand, which she takes, noticing his fingernails seem to be painted black. _Where does one even find black nail polish?_ she wonders. "I have the unfortunate honor of being this clotpole's best mate," he laughs as Arthur lightly thumps him on the back of his head.

"This is Leon," Arthur says, pointing to a tall man with long, unruly reddish-brown curls in a white Clash t-shirt and blue jeans that appear to be held together exclusively by safety pins.

"And Ox," he indicates another man, just slightly taller than the strikingly tall Leon, and twice as wide. His body is thick with muscle beneath his black t-shirt bearing an anarchy symbol on the front and the sleeves ripped off to display his impressive arms. His hair is buzzed down very close to his head and he has a small silver hoop earring in one ear. He nods at her and smiles, and Gwen cannot help smiling back at the one real surprise: his sweet boyish face.

"Ox?" she questions.

The large man sighs. "My name is Percival, actually, which is bollocks for a name. And Percy sounds like a poof. So they call me Ox, on account of my last name being Oxley."

"And you're as big as one," Merlin points out, laughing, and Ox nods in agreement, grinning sheepishly.

"And…" Arthur motions toward the last man.

"Gwaine?" she supplies, turning her smile from Percival to Gwaine.

"At your service," he says with a wink, his long dark hair falling in his face. He reaches up and sweeps it back, and Gwen sees a large tattoo covering his entire arm. It appears to be of Celtic knot patterns, surrounding his arm like a sleeve.

"Like it?" he asks, seeing her looking at it.

"It's… interesting," she says, leaning forward for a better view.

"Drag did it," he nods at Arthur. Gwen blinks in surprise. _He tattoos people? Does_ he _have any?_

"Oh," she says, at a loss for words.

"All right. Now you know us, so you don't have to be worried walking past," Arthur says.

"In fact, _do_ walk on our side of the street. We'll protect you," Leon adds. It sounds corny, but Gwen cannot help but believe him when she looks up and sees the earnest expression on his face.

She looks at the others, who nod in agreement. She smiles again at them. "Knights in shining… chains and safety pins, yes?" she says, a little cautiously, not sure how they'll react to the tease.

She breathes again when they laugh and nod, muttering agreeable comments amongst themselves.

"I'm going to take Guinevere home; make sure she's all right and un-accosted by any other wankers like Helios and Cenred. Catch you later," Arthur says, waving his free hand at them just before taking Gwen's hand again to lead her toward a nearby alley. He still has her groceries in one arm.

"Un-accosted," he hears Gwaine mutter as they walk away. "Un-accosted by someone other than _him_ , he means," he says suggestively, laughing. Merlin shushes him as Arthur shoots him a dirty look over his shoulder.

"Here we are," he says, indicating a large black and red motorcycle hulking menacingly in the nearby alley. "Guinevere, this is Morgana," Arthur says, carefully placing Gwen's grocery bag into a leather saddlebag on one side of the bike.

"Morgana? You named your motorcycle?"

"I did," he says, swinging his long, lean leg over the machine and hoisting it upright. "Can you manage in that dress?"

Gwen is wearing a flowing floral-patterned lavender sundress. The skirt is long and full, so she gathers it up in her hands and gingerly swings her leg over the seat behind Arthur. She adjusts the material as best she can, propriety fully intact. "Okay, I think I'm good."

"Hmm," he turns slightly, looking at her. _So much bare skin._ "There's a leather jacket tucked behind you. Put it on, please."

"Why?"

"Safer for you. You're… too exposed," he motions to her shoulders, eyes dropping to her tantalizing chest for the briefest of moments. _It would be a crime to mar that beautiful skin should we take a spill._

"Um, okay," she reaches behind her and pulls out a black leather jacket and shrugs it on over her shoulders. It's too big, but she cannot help feeling comforted by its presence. _It smells good. Not like smoke or anything._ "You don't smoke," she comments.

"How can you tell?" he asks.

"Your jacket smells good," she shyly says.

He chuckles. "Check the pockets. You'll find my vice in there."

Her eyes widen as she cautiously pokes her fingers in a pocket. They slowly withdraw a packet of sweets.

"Candy?" she laughs.

"Sugar junkie, me," he grins, then turns his attention back to his bike. He attempts to start it up. It sputters briefly, then nothing.

"Is there a real Morgana? Like, a human?" she asks, finding herself hoping that there isn't.

"Yeah," he says, stomping the bike to life again. This time it almost takes. "She's my sister."

"You named your motorcycle after your sister?"

He attempts a third time, and the engine catches, the noise deafening. Three seconds later, it conks out again.

"Yes. Because they both can be quite a bitch when they want to," he explains, trying a fourth time, and Gwen's laughter is drowned out by the roar of the engine as it fires up and takes.

"Hang on," he hollers over his shoulder, and Gwen bites her lower lip as she slides her hands around Arthur's waist.

 _He's got a nice body,_ she notes, feeling a firm stomach under her hands, a muscular back in front of her.

Arthur, keenly aware of her body pressed against his back, puts the bike in gear and heads out of the alley, following Gwen's pointed directions to her flat.

xXx

"So."

"Um."

"Yes."

"Thank you again, Arthur."

"Any time, Guinevere."

She looks up at him a moment. She quickly lifts up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek before sweeping past him with her bag to hurry up the steps to her door.

 _Oh well. She'll be passing again._ He turns back to his bike.

"Arthur?"

He turns, not sure he's heard her, her voice was so soft.

"Would you like something to eat? I was going to make myself some brunch," she indicates her shopping, biting her lip nervously. _Why am I inviting him in? Why is my heart pounding like a bass drum?_

 _Yes, please. I'll stay for dinner, too, if you would but ask._ "Sure," he says, removing the key from the ignition and shoving it in his pocket.

"Consider it my way of properly thanking you," she says as he hops up the steps, skipping every other one. _Some other options are occurring to me as well, though…_

"Not necessary, but I am hungry," he grins at her. _And I can think of another way you can properly thank me._


	2. Chapter 2

"Arthur," Gwen gasps as his lips connect with her neck, kissing a hot, wet trail from her ear to her collarbone, sending a thrill through her center. She reaches up and caresses the side of his head, the bare stubble there tickling her fingers as she gently holds him against her.

_How did I end up beneath him on my couch, kissing like we're both desperate for each other? Oh, that's right. I invited him in for brunch. Brunch that never got made, because he said my name and my knees turned to water and he came up behind me and kissed the side of my neck and my whole body cried out for him like a starved person who has just been offered a five-course meal._

Arthur mumbles something against the skin of her neck as his hand finds her breast, making her arch against him, craving the contact. The thin material of her dress suddenly feels too restrictive, too thick, too unnecessary, and she sighs as he slides one of the straps down her shoulder, kissing it as he does so.

His lips return to hers, soft and pliable and feeling just as good as she imagined they would. _No, better._ His warm tongue probes the interior of her mouth deliciously, meeting hers and yielding to it as she takes her turn to explore his mouth some more.

 _He tastes so sweet, so good._ Her hands rove his back, and she feels more evidence of that well-muscled torso beneath his t-shirt. She bunches the material in her fists, pulling on it slightly.

Arthur gets the hint and sits back for just a moment, kneeling between her knees amongst the bunched-up skirts of her dress, his storm-colored eyes searing into hers as he yanks the shirt off over his head, revealing to Gwen the beautifully muscled chest she was anticipating.

That, and a large, exquisitely detailed tattoo of a red and gold dragon wrapped around his left shoulder.

"Wow," she says, reaching up to touch it. _I've never seen anything like it. It's…_ "Beautiful," she says, finishing her thought aloud.

He smiles warmly down at her, his eyes passion-dark. _I'm glad she likes it._ He reaches down with his hand, and caresses her cheek. "Beautiful," he echoes softly, and she pulls him back down to her waiting lips.

She moans as he kisses her to near-mindlessness, reaching up to slide the other strap of her dress down. Her hands rove his chest, slipping downward towards his belt.

He smiles against her lips just as she has a moment of pause. "Wait," she says, her hands stilling at his belt.

He immediately stops, sitting back again, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry, I…"

"No, I'm sorry," she says, scooting back to sit more upright. _Wow. I only had to tell him once, and he stopped._ "I… I just don't want you to think…"

"I don't."

She smiles, and sighs. "You want to wait until you hear what I'm going to say?"

"Proceed, my lady," he waves his hand.

"I don't want you to think that I'm just doing this out of gratitude, or… that I'm easy or loose. I'm not."

He listens silently, politely, twining his fingers with hers. "I don't think that at all."

"Because I honestly _never…_ "

"I know."

"I've let you get further today than most of the men I've dated have ever gotten, actually. I'm a—"

"A good girl," he finishes. "I _know._ " He reaches over and caresses her cheek.

"I just don't want you to think less of me."

"Guinevere," he says quietly, "I have wanted you from the first moment I saw you walk down that street. A month ago. And now that I know that you are as beautiful inside as you are outside," his thumb traces her cheekbone, "I don't think there's anything that could sully my opinion of you."

She turns her face into his palm, and he adds, "I mean, unless you turn out to be a bloke in drag or something."

She laughs suddenly, and his face lights up at the sound and sight of her laughter. He bites his lower lip, slowly releasing it as he gazes at her.

 _How can he make what is surely an unconscious habit look so incredibly sexy?_ she thinks, blushing and looking down at her lap.

His fingertips touch her chin, lifting her face. "We can stop if you want to."

She smiles and takes his hand in hers, bringing his fingers to her lips, kissing them sweetly. She lightly bites one fingertip, then guides it down to her breast.

"Or not," he says, his voice breaking.

She leans forward and kisses him. "I think I just needed to know that you _would_ if I asked," she whispers, pulling him back down over her.

"Your wish is forever my command," he whispers just before he claims her lips with his once again. She brings her hands up to his head, her fingers bumping into the impenetrable three-inch wall of hair bisecting his scalp.

"Your… hair is very… uncooperative," she says between kisses.

He chuckles against her lips. "It used to be… longer."

Her hands leave his head and she returns them to his belt, unfastening it this time as he trails down her neck again and he starts pulling at her dress. "Which way does this go?" he complains, not knowing which direction to pull.

"Here," she says, sitting up again, kissing him as she does so. She wriggles the dress out from beneath her and pulls it off over her head, tossing it to the floor.

"Oh," he sighs, gazing down at her body. "Bloody hell," his appreciation voiced in a soft curse, and he dives back in, his hands running along the skin he has so longed to touch, his lips capturing one of her breasts, bringing forth a sweet whimper from her lips.

She forgets herself for a short time, enjoying his attention, then remembers his trousers, reaching back down to unfasten them. She shoves at them impatiently, and he lifts his head.

"Careful, Love," he cautions, nibbling her lips a bit.

She understands his warning when she realizes that he isn't wearing any underwear. "Oh. Yes, I see," she laughs.

Arthur kisses her again, then briefly stands to pull his jeans off, returning to her in no time.

He delves into her breasts again, closing his lips around a taut nipple, coaxing it stiffer, more excited, more sensitive. One hand drags down to trace a finger at the edge of her scant knickers, plain white but attractive and alluring nevertheless.

"Yes, Arthur," she gasps, encouraging the hand to slip inside and touch her, the sensation like lightning shot through her spine.

"My stupid name actually sounds _good_ when you say it," he mutters against the skin of her breasts, teasing the skin there with his lips, relishing the sensation of her skin against them.

"Arthur," she moans again, a plea, a prayer, as he pushes his hand in further to slide a finger inside her, warm and slick.

She helps him remove the last barrier between them, which he flings across the room. She slides her thighs along the outside of his hips, enticing him, as she reaches down with her hand to touch him.

"Oh, God," he groans as her slender fingers trace the contours of his manhood, and he loses his mind just a little.

Gwen starts to guide him home, gently encouraging him. He resists a moment, asking, "Do we need…"

"I'm on the pill," she gasps, arching up against him again, her need for him making her quite bold.

"In that case…" he says, kissing her passionately as he pushes forward, sliding into her. She breaks the kiss, moaning softly and pressing her head back into the throw pillow beneath it.

Arthur moves swiftly but gently, his tender lovemaking a welcome surprise for Gwen. _I would have expected him to be rougher, but he really is full of surprises._ She grips his shoulders, his neck, clinging to him, bringing her leg around his hip.

He leans back, grabs the leg and carefully moves it around, in front of him, resting it against his chest as he resumes thrusting, her delicate foot against his shoulder.

"Oh… ah…" she moans, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest, his stomach.

He caresses her leg, up to her thigh, her backside, before turning his head to kiss her foot.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, her eyes flying open in surprise as she feels his tongue on her toes, sucking at them as he moves, adding an unexpectedly pleasurable layer of sensation.

Arthur slows his movements, drawing them out, torturing her as he continues to nibble and suck at her toes.

"Yes," she sighs, stretching her body beneath him, grabbing his waist, his hips, anything she can reach, spurring him forward again, faster again.

"Faster?" he asks seductively, his hand trailing at her leg and he feels goosebumps rise on her soft skin.

"Yes!" she gasps, digging her fingers in where her hands rest at his hips.

He gently lowers her leg back around him and moves faster, harder, throwing his head back for a moment before tucking his head into her neck with a delicious growl. _She feels so damn good, I can't hold on much longer._

Gwen starts to cry out, her body quivering beneath him. She reaches up for his hands, threading her fingers through his, squeezing tightly as she screams in ecstasy, digging her nails into the backs of his hands.

 _Wow_ is Arthur's last coherent thought before he drops down over her again, her hands still in his. He leans on their joined hands, pinning them on either side of her head. He crashes his lips onto hers as he releases into her, his whole body tense and taut. She sucks at his lips, and he feels as though she is drawing as much of him into her as she can.

Panting and slightly dizzy, he pulls his lips away with a gentle pecked kiss before gathering her in his arms as he relaxes over her. She strokes his back, trailing her fingers along his spine, running her palms across the broad flat muscles.

Arthur scoots to the side, cuddling her in his arms, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You are amazing," he tells her, leaning down to kiss her once more.

"You're pretty amazing, too," she says, her hand caressing his chest.

"That was just… wow."

She giggles, tucking her head into his shoulder. His hand slides down her hip, and he lets his eyes rove over her body, noting the curve and shape of her, the play of the shadows on her skin, the way her hair falls here and there.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"Hmm?" her words snap him from his reverie. "Yes, actually, I am. Still," he smiles.

"Well, we would have been eating already but someone distracted me," she says, standing and pulling her dress on over her head.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur wanders into the kitchen, clad only in his jeans, curious. "What are we having?"

"Fried eggs and potatoes, fruit, and scones."

"Mmm," he leans over her shoulder from behind, peeking at the frying pan she is tending. "Smells good," he says, kissing her neck again. "And the food's not bad either."

She laughs and lightly shoves him, "Don't start that again or we'll never eat."

He sits at the small table, plopping down like a child that has just been chastised.

"So what is it you do, Arthur?"

"Do?"

"You have a job?"

"Yes, I work at a tattoo parlor. Gwaine owns it."

"That must be interesting."

"Sometimes. I do get to see a lot of skin, but usually it belongs to sweaty hairy men."

She laughs again. "Lovely. Suddenly I'm not as hungry."

He laughs now. "It almost pays the rent," he shrugs. "Really I'm an artist, though."

"Oh?" she turns, interested. "What kind of artist? I mean, other than tattoo."

"I do a lot of pencil sketch work. Some painting." He looks at her. "I'd love to draw you."

She blushes and turns back to the stove.

"I mean it," he stands again, approaching her. "You have such unique beauty," he says, gently taking her arm and turning her back towards him. "I've never seen anyone like you," he strokes her cheek. "Gorgeous." His eyes drink her in again, and she feels like he is trying to memorize every detail of her.

"Thank you," she whispers, blushing, and leans up to kiss him once before turning away again, this time to turn off the stove.

She brings the dishes to the table, which she's already set. He turns in his chair to face the table and waits patiently.

Gwen dishes up the food, putting some on his plate, then hers. He helps himself to a scone.

"Tea?" she asks, standing and going to the kettle on the stove.

"Please," he answers, leaning over to smell his plate. "Mmm."

She pours and he reaches for the sugar, pouring an obscene amount into his cup.

"Ah, yes, you did say you were a sugar junkie, didn't you?" she smiles.

"Everyone has a vice," he shrugs. "Smoking is foul, and drugs are just not my scene."

"Drink?"

"Mostly just lager. I don't like getting drunk. Clouds my brain. Stifles the creativity, you know."

She nods, taking a sip of her tea.

"How 'bout you? What dirty little secret do you harbor?"

"Me? I don't have any, I don't think," she says, then looks away.

"Guinevere…" he cajoles.

"Trashy romance novels," she sighs.

He laughs. "You mean those softcover books with the blokes with long flowing hair and pecs the size of… well, the size of _those,_ " he indicates her chest, and she laughs, "clutching the fair damsel who is positively _heaving_ out of her bodice?"

"Yes, those," she laughs. "They're terrible, mostly, but I can't stop myself." She lifts her foot to cross her legs and it brushes against Arthur's leg.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to kick you," she says when he sharply looks up.

"No, you didn't kick me," he says quietly, reaching down and picking up her foot, cradling it in his lap.

She gives him an odd look, wondering what he's doing with her foot.

"I probably should confess. I have a bit of a fetish."

"A bit?" she asks. "Isn't that like saying someone is 'a bit' dead?"

He laughs now. "True," he says, his thumb running along her arch, making her jump.

"Tickles, stop," she says.

"Sorry." He gives her foot a squeeze, then returns his attention to his plate, smiling when she leaves her foot there. "It doesn't trouble you?" he asks.

"What, the foot thing? No. If you told me you got off on dressing up as a baby, or, I don't know, enjoyed being peed on, then I might have had a problem," she says, stabbing a potato.

"Aw, I was saving that for next week," he jokes, and she almost spits chewed-up potato across the table, clapping her hand over her mouth as she laughs.

"I actually broke up with a girl because she had ugly feet," he admits, taking a bite of scone. "Where did you get these scones? They're really good."

"Oh, those I made," she says, then asks, "So, are my feet up to your standard?"

"Yours," he says, swallowing, "are spectacular."

She smiles and takes a drink of her tea, gently pressing her foot into his groin, teasing him.

He groans and closes his eyes, smiling.

xXx

"That was the best brunch I've ever had," he declares, leaning back in his chair, stretching.

She watches the muscles of his chest move as he stretches, his broad shoulders scrunching together as he raises his arms over his head, leaning back.

 _I wonder how he stays in such good shape,_ she wonders, admiring him shamelessly.

"I used to play football. A lot," he explains, noticing her appraisal.

"You have a… a really nice body, Arthur," she says, scooting her chair slightly and leaning back a bit herself, swinging her other foot up into his lap.

"Thank you. I'm mostly just lucky, actually," he says, his hands dropping into his lap to hold her lovely feet, touch them, caress them.

"So you used to play football? What happened?" she asks.

"Injury, what else? I was at University, on scholarship, and during a match I was tripped – accidentally – and lost my footing. Broke my ankle in three places," he says, leaning down to hitch his trouser leg up, showing her the scars.

Gwen leans forward, dropping her feet, and looks. She takes his foot in her hand and brings it up into her lap. "Oh my," she says, her fingers tracing a long raised scar running up the side of his leg.

"There's all kinds of hardware in there now. Screws and plates and shit, all holding my ankle together."

She gives his foot a squeeze and he removes it to the floor, motioning that he wants hers back.

"I can still play, and I do still like to, but not for long periods of time," he says, his thumb rubbing circles from her heel to her toes.

 _That feels really good,_ she thinks enjoying his attention. "And your scholarship?"

"Pbbbt," he sticks his tongue out and blows. "Gone. I was almost done with school, so I did manage to finish, but it wasn't easy, since I was cut off and all."

"Cut off?"

"Ah. Yes. My, um, my father kind of disowned me. So I had to fend for myself."

Her brow furrows. _Pendragon, he said. Surely he's not related to that finance bloke._ "Can I ask?" she says gently.

"He doesn't approve of me. Of my choices."

"What's wrong with your choices?"

"They're not his."

"Aha."

"He wanted me to study finance, I wanted to study art. He thinks I look like a freak. He doesn't like my motorcycle. He wants me to be him. I want to be me."

 _So it is that guy._ "So you followed your own path and he punished you for it."

He squeezes her foot, gently, lifting it higher to press it to his chest, cradling it. "Essentially, yes. So I work as a bloody tattoo artist to pay the bills and live in a dark basement flat rather than being a drone for my father and living in a posh penthouse." He kisses her foot now, starting to become distracted.

"I think that's admirable of you, Arthur. And it makes me sad for your father," she says, sensing that this conversation is going to be over soon as she feels her toes slip into his mouth.

"His loss," he mutters, "I'm happy." He keeps her left foot in his hands, rubbing it gently while he feathers kisses on her toes. She moves her right foot forward and slides it against him, pressing gently but firmly.

He groans into her foot. "You are evil," he says, loving her willingness to indulge him.

"Am I?" she asks, feeling his firmness growing under her foot, rubbing against it through his jeans, smiling slyly.

He bites the side of her foot and slides his tongue along the bottom of it, causing her to yelp. Grinning, he slips it in and out between her toes, working his way along, attending each one.

"Oh…" she jerks her foot in his hand, but he holds it firm, "Arthur, that _tickles!_ " she squeals, trying to free herself from his relentless tongue, careful not to kick with her other foot.

He moves his lips, working his way up now, kissing her ankle, up her calf, dropping to his knees on the floor as he trails kisses up the inside of her knee to her thigh, shoving the skirt of her sundress up as he goes.

"Arthur," she gasps, glancing at the dishes still on the table, the mess yet to be cleaned up from brunch. _Oh well,_ she thinks as he grabs her hips, pulling her forward on the chair, kissing higher and higher up her inner thigh.

His lips make contact with her warm center, already wet and waiting for him, and she cries out, grabbing the seat of the chair in her hands.

Electricity shoots through her when his tongue touches her folds, tracing their contours, flicking against the tight bud at the top. His hands grip her thighs, kneading the soft but firm flesh as his tongue slips forward into her, driving deep inside. She arches back against the hard chair, her head falling back.

"Oh…" she breathes, her hands reaching down to cover his for a moment before drifting up to clutch at her own breasts.

He kisses and licks, suckling and nibbling gently, her knees hooked over his shoulders as she writhes on the chair, moaning her appreciation.

Arthur slips his tongue into her again, firm and slippery, then backs out to press the swollen nub, sensitized beyond reason. He licks at it lazily, languidly, drawing low moans from Guinevere's throat. He increases his speed and intensity, bringing her to the peak of desire, feeling her whole body tighten around him, her hands once again gripping the seat of the chair, and she shouts out his name, her voice hoarse and impassioned, her hips bucking.

The chair scoots a little and he lifts his head, gently removing her knees from his shoulders. He lifts her down from the chair, laying her on the kitchen floor beneath him, bending to kiss her lips. She is still breathing heavily, recovering from her climax, but she kisses him back fervently as her hands find the buttons on his jeans.

She opens them and he sits back to shove them down, leaving them hanging at his knees in his urgency, and immediately dives forward, into her.

"Oh!" she exclaims, laughing a little, realizing that she is still mostly dressed, they are on her kitchen floor, and she is making love to a man she only met that morning. For the second time. That day. _Oh bloody hell, who cares? He's too fantastic._

Arthur is not as gentle this time, driving into her there on the floor, her dress shoved up around her waist. He drops down and kisses her again, her lips, her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. He closes his mouth over her nipple, right through the thin cotton of her dress as if it wasn't even there, and she can feel the warmth of his mouth on her, can feel his teeth as they carefully bite the hard nub, the texture from the fabric adding a different sensation.

She clutches at his head, his shoulders, raking her fingernails along his back.

"Yes…" he moans when he feels the scratching of her nails on his skin. So she does it again, a little harder, and he grunts and moves faster, more forcefully.

"You are…" she gasps against the skin of his neck, "a little… kinky… aren't you?"

"Yeah," he manages through gritted teeth, pulling his head back up, his eyes boring into her as he thrusts.

She giggles at his admission, but her amusement is short-lived as she feels the warmth spreading through her again, starting low in her belly and spreading, spreading through her until it engulfs her and she cries out again, pulling his head down to hers.

He drops down, letting her pull him in, letting her kiss him as his own release rolls over him, large and wonderful. His mind empties as he empties his seed into her, and she swallows his own cry with her kisses, holding his lips to hers as he stills within her.

He relaxes, lips still pressed to hers, and he starts kissing her again, softly, sweetly, his tongue teasing and gentle.

Gwen sighs against him, enjoying his kisses, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He breaks the kiss and opens his eyes, gazing down at her.

"We're on the floor," he says plainly.

"You noticed," she says, tracing his jaw with her fingertips.

"Sorry," he grins a lopsided grin and eases away from her, out of her, helping her up before pulling his jeans back up.

He pulls her into his arms in a great hug, his arm around her back and his other hand cradling her head. She hugs his torso, closing her eyes as her cheek lies against his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Much to her surprise, Arthur helps her clean up the kitchen, drying dishes for her and attempting to figure out where things go.

"Just set them on the table, Arthur," she laughs. "I'll put them away later."

Gwen takes his hand and leads him back to the living room. She finally spots where her knickers landed, and bends to pluck them from the magazine rack with a smirk. She ponders them a moment, and walks to the bathroom and tosses them in the hamper rather than putting them back on. _I have a feeling they'll only end up on the floor again anyway,_ she ruefully (hopefully?) thinks.

She joins him on the sofa, snuggling close to him. "If you need to go…" she starts, suddenly realizing that he may have someplace to go or something to do.

"I don't. Unless you want me to go."

"I don't," she softly says.

They quietly sit together a bit, just touching, caressing, giving each other small kisses.

"So what is it that you do, Guinevere?" he asks finally.

"I work at Taliesin Publishing," she says.

"Really? Are you an editor?" he asks, sounding strangely hopeful.

"No, I'm William Gaius' receptionist," she says, a little sadly. "I would like to someday be an editor, but it's harder for a woman."

"I'm sure you're brilliant," he says supportively. "William Gaius, eh? He's very important."

"You seem to know a lot about it," she says, looking up at him, puzzled.

"Merlin is a writer. He's been trying to get something, anything read by Gaius for three years now."

"Oh?" Gwen sits up and looks at him. "What has he written?"

"Some story about a wizard," he says, making a face. "It sounds weird, I know, but he's actually really talented."

"Have you been friends a very long time?"

"As long as I can remember. Another thing my father is less than thrilled with, in fact."

"Why on earth would he object to Merlin? He seemed really sweet."

"Because he's," Arthur leans in conspiratorially, whispering, " _poor!_ "

Gwen gasps in mock horror, hands flying to her mouth. "No! Say it isn't so!"

Arthur laughs. "Exactly. So worried about appearances, the mighty Uther Pendragon. All front, no substance," he sighs. "Anyway. So you answer phones and greet people all day?"

"Pretty much," she shrugs.

"That must be exhausting."

"What?"

"Having to be friendly like that all day long. I know it would wear me the hell out."

"You know, it is, some days. Like if I'm feeling particularly bitchy, I still have to be nice."

He looks sideways at her. "I cannot imagine you ever being bitchy."

"That's because we've only just met," she says, touching the tip of her finger to his nose.

He laughs, "No, I'm sure that's not it. You're a good girl, remember?"

She smiles, and leans back against his shoulder, fingers idly tracing the dragon tattooed on the other.

"Tell me about this," she says.

"Nothing to tell, really. I drew it, Gwaine stuck it. Took an entire week."

"Really?"

"Well, it's big. Can't do it all in one go, you know."

"No, actually, I didn't know that."

"Great art takes time," he says with mock seriousness.

She pulls on his shoulder, climbing up to straddle his lap to inspect the entire thing, peeking around at his back, at the other half of the dragon.

"It's really cool," she declares, her hands touching, her hair brushing against his skin. He sits as patiently as he is able, her proximity intoxicating him.

He slides his hands up, rubbing circles on her back. She kisses his shoulder, then leans back and kisses his lips.

"Do you have any others?" she asks, fairly sure she would have seen them if he had.

"Not yet. I'm sure I'll get more, but I have to design something first." He rests his hands on her hips.

"That makes sense."

"Do _you_ have any?" he asks, grinning.

"I think you know I—"

The phone rings, cutting her off. She sighs and climbs off his lap, walking over to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Gwen," the voice on the other end greets.

"Freya, how are you?"

"Good. I was wondering what you were doing today. I'm looking for someone to go shopping with."

"Um, actually, I have company," Gwen says, glancing at Arthur, who is not trying to hide the fact that he is listening. He waves.

"Company? You _never_ have company."

"Well, I do today. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Wait, is he cute?"

"Yes, he is. Have fun shopping."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"You'd better give details," she warns.

"Okay, I will talk to you later," she says, "'bye, Freya."

She hangs up and starts back to the sofa.

"So what am I?" he asks.

"Hmm?"

"You said, 'Yes, he is.' I presume that was something about me," he smirks at her.

"Oh. She asked if you were cute."

"Cute?" he makes a face. "I prefer 'rakishly handsome.' Or 'devilishly good-looking.' That has a nice ring," he says, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa.

"There's nothing wrong with cute," Gwen says, hands on her hips.

"Makes me sound like a… a puppy."

She leans forward, kissing his lips, soft and wet. "You are all those things." She kisses him again. "But you are also cute."

He frowns, and she straddles his lap again, hitching her skirt up around her knees. "Yes, cute." She kisses him again. "And sweet." Another kiss, a little longer. "And wonderfully charming." Gwen kisses him yet again, opening her mouth this time, sweeping her tongue into his mouth while he runs his hands up her legs, under her skirt.

She breaks the kiss, looking down at him. "Yes," she says decisively. "I quite like you."

He laughs, his fingers caressing her thighs. "Well, good, because I quite like you, too."

"Now that _that's_ settled," she smiles again and leans forward to kiss him again, but something stops her. His stare. _He's studying me. I'm beginning to learn that look, the look he gets when he's looking at me with his artist's eyes._ "Arthur?"

"I am definitely going to draw you. And paint you. A lot," he says, leaning forward to kiss her, his hands sliding around to grasp her rear.

"Arthur," she says as he starts kissing her neck again. She can feel the stiff length of him growing beneath her. _I'm having more sex today than I've had in the last three years,_ she absently thinks. She feels Arthur's hands moving again, upward, shoving at her dress. Again.

Gwen sighs into his lips. "You are incorrigible," she mutters, yanking her dress off over her head.

He only growls and dives into her breasts, lavishing them with soft kisses and bites, his tongue craving the taste and feel of them.

He suddenly stands, easily lifting her with him.

"Arthur!" she squeals, hanging on.

"Wow, you don't weigh anything at all," he says, planting another kiss on her lips as she wraps her legs around him.

He somehow manages to open his jeans and lets them fall, stepping out of them as she nibbles his ear, running her tongue along the outer shell, sucking his earlobe into his mouth. _The earring is an interesting sensation,_ she thinks, biting just hard enough to make him groan. She releases his earlobe and nibbles her way up the curve of his ear, then snakes her tongue inside for just a second.

He shudders as a chill runs down his body from the touch of her tongue, and she bends her head further to kiss his neck.

Gwen lets go with one hand, reaching down for him, stroking him, leaning back slightly, and she realizes that somehow he's moved them, bracing her against the wall. Arthur dips his head, taking an erect nipple into his mouth, suckling it lovingly, teeth taunting, tongue soothing.

 _She is so good,_ he thinks, relishing her skillful hand on him, her slender fingers and soft palm driving him further than he would like. He gropes for her wrist, attempting to still her hand.

"Stop," he gasps, breathing heavily.

"Oh," she realizes what he wants and returns her hand to grasp his shoulder. She grinds her hips against him, wanting the contact, _needing_ the contact. _How can he do this to me, make me want him so fiercely?_

"Guinevere," he says her name, his voice low, soft but husky with desire.

"Oh, God, I love how you say my name," she gasps, pushing her hips against him again.

He lifts his head, capturing her earlobe between his teeth now, slipping his tongue down her neck. "Guinevere," he says again, whispering it in her ear, his warm breath in her ear like a caress.

"Oh…" she sighs, clinging to his shoulders. "I need you, Arthur," she says, her eyes closed, head dropping back against the wall. "Now."

Arthur reaches down and moves her, and she takes him into her, squeezing her legs around him to pull him in as far as he can.

He groans and bites her neck, relishing the feel of her warmth surrounding him. Planting his feet, he thrusts into her while she rides him, their hips slamming together in a spontaneous rhythm.

"Arthur…" she gasps again, so softly that he almost doesn't hear it. He wills his eyes open to watch her, her beautiful skin flushed and glowing with a light sheen of perspiration, succulent lips parted. Her tongue darts out to unconsciously lick them and his eyes close again. _Too much to bear,_ he thinks, but forces his eyes open anyway.

Lovely soft whimpers are escaping from those lush lips now, and Arthur loses his mind, thrusting harder, leaning his head forward into her to suck at her neck, tasting her sweat, salty and sweet, loving the feel of her fingernails digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

Just as he is about to explode, she cries out her release, and he follows swiftly, his head buried in the curve of her neck, where it meets her shoulder, pressing his face into her.

Guinevere can feel his groan as a vibration against her neck and she realizes that she's probably left marks in his shoulders with her fingernails. She relaxes her grip on him and rubs his skin softly, gently, apologizing with her hands.

"Sorry," she whispers, looking to check for any damage.

"No…" he says, easing out of her. "Don't apologize." He sets her on her feet. "I actually love it, you know."

"You're odd," she says as he lets her down to her feet.

"Kinky, remember?" he grins at her, and she laughs.

"As you say," she says dismissively, waving her hand casually. He bends down and kisses her again.

xXx

"You really are a beautiful man, do you know that?" she asks, watching him pull his jeans on again. She'd offered her dressing gown to him, but as it was lavender and feminine, her thin summer one, he respectfully declined. So she put it on instead.

"Of course I know that," he jokes, posing.

"Okay, that's the last time I compliment you," she laughs.

"What time is it?" he suddenly asks, looking around for a clock.

"Um, 3:15," she says. "Where has the day gone?"

"We've been shagging it away, Sweet." He sits on the sofa again, a curious look on his face.

"What is it?"

"Do you have any candy? Or some biscuits or something?"

"Need a fix, hey?"

He grins.

She walks to the kitchen and returns a moment later with four chocolate chip cookies. She hands three to Arthur and keeps one for herself.

"Mmm," he says, downing nearly half the cookie in one bite. "Did you make these?" he asks, his mouth full.

She nods.

"Gotta keep you around," he says, studying the cookie as she sits beside him, curling her legs beneath her.

"So. You mentioned a sister and a father. Any other family?"

"No. My mum died in childbirth," he says, finishing the last cookie.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, her hands to her mouth.

"It's all right. We were just too much for her, I guess," he says, a little sadly.

"We?"

"Morgana is my twin sister."

She blinks. "Oh," she says, still a little shocked and embarrassed.

"Technically she's nine minutes older than me," he rolls his eyes.

"And I'm sure she reminds you of that fact frequently, yes?"

"Of course. The funny thing is, we don't even really look alike." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black leather wallet, from which he withdraws a photo. "She looks like Father, and from what I've heard and seen in photos, I favor our mum. Funny how that worked out," he says, shrugging.

Gwen takes it. "She's very beautiful," she says, noting the alabaster skin and raven hair. _Raven hair. Wait a minute._ She looks up at Arthur, studying him. _Blue eyes. Golden skin tone. Light eyebrows and eyelashes. Light chest hair._ "You're really a blonde, aren't you?"

"What?" he says, attempting to look sincere. She reaches out and lightly yanks a bit of chest hair, causing him to yelp. Then she reaches up and runs her fingertips along his eyebrow, and he drops his head. "Yeah, I dye my hair black. Looks cooler, right?" he asks, peeking up at her, only to find her laughing at him. "All right, shut it," he says, snatching the picture back from Gwen's fingers and tucking it back into his wallet. "Okay, how about you?" he asks.

"My hair is naturally this color," she says.

He sighs and looks at the ceiling, trying to hide his smile. "I _meant_ how about your family? You haven't said anything about them. Are they horrid?"

"Not at all. My parents are divorced. Mum lives in France. She works the reception desk at the Hotel Britannique, so I don't see her often. Dad is a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard."

Arthur's eyebrows rise slightly.

"Do I… need to be worried?" she asks.

"No! No, I'm just surprised. I don't know what I thought your father would do for a living, but cop wasn't on the list," he chuckles. "I'll have you know that I have a spotless record. Not even a parking ticket."

"Good. Because if he ever meets you, he'll check."

"Understood. If you were my daughter, I'd do the same. Any brothers or sisters?"

"I have a brother, Elyan. He lives in America."

"Wow, how'd he end up there?"

"He was always a bit of a wanderer. Always wanted to go to America, though I can't imagine why."

"Where does he live? New York? LA?"

"Chicago. He's a pastry chef at the Hilton."

"Oh, got to meet him," Arthur says, grinning.

"For the sweets, I presume."

"Of course."

Just then Arthur sits straight up and he looks sharply towards the door.

"Wha—" Gwen starts to ask, but then Arthur stands just as she hears the chimes from the neighborhood ice cream van floating through the door. _He's like a dog sensing his master is coming home,_ she thinks, amused as he walks to the door, barefoot and clad only in his jeans.

She stands and follows, watching at the window while he casually strides to the van and purchases two ice cream bars.

"Okay, you cannot deny your cuteness now," she says, smirking at him as he hands her an ice cream.

He grunts, tearing the paper off his and tossing it in the trash bin before heading back into the living room with his treat.

"Thank you, by the way," Gwen says, unwrapping hers as well. It is a simple chocolate-covered ice cream on a wooden stick. His is the same, except it seems to be disappearing faster than hers.

"Told you I was a sugar junkie," he says.

"And yet you still have that body. It's so unfair," she says, taking a bite.

Arthur watches her eat the ice cream bar. _This was a better idea than I realized._ His eyes do not leave her as her delicate pink tongue licks the ice cream, her lips suck at it, her teeth crunch through the hard chocolate coating.

The ice cream is no match for the summer heat, and while Arthur has finished his, Gwen's is starting to melt. Melted vanilla drips down from the bar and onto her hand. She curses quietly and licks the drip from her wrist and up her forearm.

Arthur sucks in his breath, watching her tongue on her beautiful skin, mind reeling with the images that are coming into his brain. He shifts in his seat and she looks up at him, seeing him watching her.

"Messy," she mumbles, but the heat in his gaze is not missed.

Two bites left, and a drip falls between the halves of her dressing gown, onto her chest.

"Shit," she says, reaching down to wipe it.

"Leave it," he says roughly. She obediently drops her hand and finishes the rest of her ice cream just as he leans forward, parting the robe just enough to tuck his head in, slowly and deliberately licking the melted ice cream from between her breasts.

Gwen closes her eyes and leans her head back slightly, sighing as his tongue travels, following the curve of her breast before trailing it up to her throat, to her neck.

"I know there's no ice cream there, Arthur," she says, and he lifts his head to kiss her lips.

"Your lips are cold," he says.

"I was just eating ice cream."


	5. Chapter 5

"How is your face?" Arthur asks, reaching his hand out to her cheek. "I keep forgetting to ask, because you keep distracting me."

" _I_ keep distracting _you?_ " she asks, and he grins and nods. "And my face is fine, I've actually forgotten all about it. I've been distracted."

He laughs, turning her face with his fingers on her chin. "I think you'll live. It's not even swollen any more." Scowling, he mutters, "Fucking Cenred."

"How do you know them?" she asks.

"From school, when we were kids. Helios – _Gavin_ Helios – is a couple years older, and he's a bully and a bit of an idiot."

"As most bullies are. Wait, _Gavin?_ Not a very tough name, that," she laughs.

"Yeah, why do you think he doesn't tell people? And Cenred's first name is Beverly."

"Nice," Gwen laughs.

"He claims it's a family name, reaching back generations. As if he comes from a great family or something," Arthur snorts derisively.

"Arthur doesn't sound so bad by comparison, hey?" she grins.

"I suppose not," he shrugs. "All right. Let's not talk about those two wankers."

"Fine with me. I've got my five bodyguards now, so I'm not going to worry about them at all," she says, smiling at him.

He leans back, pulling her over to lean against him, wrapping his arms around her. "So. You're a receptionist that wants to be an editor. Do you write?"

"Not really, not anymore. Haven't had time, really. Of course I studied literature at University, but all I could find even remotely close to the world of publishing was this receptionist job."

"How long have you been at Taliesin?"

"Just over a month."

"Have patience, I'm sure Mr. Gaius will see you have talent."

"Arthur," she turns and looks at him. "You don't even know if I do have any talent. We just met this morning."

He kisses her. "You do. I'm sure of it."

"Thank you for your confidence in me. It…" she puzzles a moment, "it actually means a great deal to hear you say that."

Arthur squeezes her, twining his fingers with hers. "Do you do anything else creative? Like, do you play an instrument, or knit, or…"

"I used to play the saxophone when I was a kid. I was terrible," she laughs. "Hmm. Oh! I sew."

"You sew? What do you sew?"

"You know, clothes. I made these pillows," she says, poking the one on the other end of the sofa with her foot. "I made the dress I was wearing today."

"Hmm. Very nice."

"I'd like to see your work sometime, Arthur," she says.

"The tattoo parlor?"

"No, silly, your _art_ work. Though the tattoo parlor would be interesting as well," she adds.

"I think both of those things can be arranged."

"Who knows, maybe I'll get a tattoo."

He frowns. "Your skin is so beautiful," he says, running his hand up her arm, on her knee, any place he can find some skin. "It would be a crime to ink it up."

"Well, I wouldn't get something large and ghastly. It would have to be something small. And pretty. And discreet."

"Ooo, discreet, I like the sound of that," he says, thinking of the possibilities.

"Naughty," she scolds, teasing.

"You know it," he says, bending his head to kiss her cheek. "Oh. You probably would like to know that I'm clean. Like, no diseases. You won't wake up tomorrow morning with a strange burning sensation or anything, I swear."

She smiles at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, that is good to know. I am, too. I mean, apart from the raging case of Herpes that I picked up in a seedy area of Bangkok that one summer."

"Oh, well, is that all?" he laughs. "Sweet, I pretty much knew that you were clean."

"I actually haven't, um, _been_ with anyone for a couple years," she admits.

"Well you seem to remember how everything works pretty well," he says, nibbling at her ear a bit.

"And you?" she turns and ask.

"It hasn't been _quite_ as long as your run, but it's been a several months."

"Oh, my God, you poor thing," she says sarcastically, and he barks a short laugh.

"Well, birds are always throwing themselves at Gwaine, and sometimes I'd catch the spares, you know?"

"How charming."

"But lately none of them have interested me," he shrugs. "Probably because I've been too busy watching you walk down the street and straight into my most erotic dreams," he mutters this close to her ear, brushing his lips against its sensitive outer shell.

"Arthur!" she exclaims.

"I'm completely serious. You must be walking to and from your job, yes? You said you started there about a month ago, and that's when I first saw you."

 _Wow. He really pays attention. Well, of course he pays attention. Details. He's an artist. Now I'd really like to see his work._ "Yes," is all she can think to say.

He leans down and kisses her again, working his way to her lips, gently tilting her head back towards him, talking in between kisses.

"So… if you haven't done… _it_ in a few years… why is it you bother… to be on the pill?"

"It helps with," she pauses as he kisses her again, "regulating my," another kiss, "monthly, um," another, "visitor," still another, "Arthur, I'm trying to," he leans in, kissing her deeply, " _talk._ "

"Yes, and I'm trying to kiss you," he says, soft and low, against her lips, his voice a drug. "Your lips are addictive, you know," he says, placing a lingering kiss there. "They're like…"

"Candy?" she supplies, smiling at him.

He nods, drinking in her smile. It is a smile that is both sweet and seductive at the same time, a smile that he knows she doesn't bestow on just anyone. _I will definitely have to capture that smile,_ he thinks, memorizing it.

"Arthur?" she prompts, noting his silence, his stare. _There it is again._

"Just taking in the details," he says, kissing her forehead.

"I've noticed you do that sometimes. Study me."

He grins sheepishly, caught. "Does it bother you?"

"No."

xXx

"Let's see, I've got some chicken, some lettuce, a hunk of cheese, um, whatever this is," she says, pulling a box out and opening it. She sniffs it. "Whatever this _was,_ " she corrects, chucking it into the bin.

"We could go somewhere. Get some takeaway."

She stands and turns. "Well, then I'd have to get dressed."

"Right. Can't be having with that now, can we?" he smirks at her. _She does look adorable in that robe, I do have to admit._

"Chicken," she decides, pulling it out and setting it on the counter before opening cupboards. "Pasta," she pulls out a box. "Do you have an opinion about salad?"

"It's fine. I don't go seeking it out or anything. What's my other option?"

"Still have some fruit from brunch left. Or," she peers into the pantry, "a tin of peas."

"Fruit. Can't let those strawberries turn now," he justifies his choice.

"Very well," she says, filling a pan with water to boil for the noodles.

"So," she says, puttering with dinner, "Merlin. I presume he's been sending manuscripts to Mr. Gaius and getting no responses, yes?"

"How did you know?"

"Taliesin is a large company. They don't even entertain unsolicited manuscripts from unknown authors. I'm quite certain that Mr. Gaius has not even seen a corner of one of Merlin's pages."

"That's rather an elitist attitude," Arthur says, disappointed for his friend.

"They can afford to do it. Perhaps he should try a smaller publisher first, like, um, Tiger or Knighthood."

"I'll suggest that to him."

"I wonder, though…" she says drifting off.

"What?"

"I'll have a look around the mail room on Monday. See if I can find a secret stash of unsolicited manuscripts. Maybe I could slip one past him."

"Could you?"

"Maybe. I'll read it myself first, though, because if it's rubbish…" she pauses, letting him fill in the blanks.

"Right."

"So don't tell Merlin."

"Right."

They sit and eat, chatting surprisingly easily, laughing often.

"You are so easy to talk to," Arthur says suddenly. "And what did you do to this pasta again?"

"Thank you. I like talking to you, too. I'm, um, glad that we seem to have more between us than just a physical attraction?" she says, making it a question because she's not sure how he'll react.

"Definitely," he says, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze, and she breathes again. He chuckles, noticing.

"And the pasta is just tossed with butter and grated Parmesan cheese," she says, answering his question.

"That's it? It's so good."

"Glad you like it. It's the easiest thing in the world." She slices some bread, handing him one before taking her own. She ponders it a moment, and stands.

"You, with the sweet tooth: Marmalade or honey?"

"Both," he says, cutting himself another slice so he has one for each topping.

Laughing, she brings the jars to the table and he immediately dives in, spreading butter first, then topping with the marmalade as she reaches for the honey.

He looks at the jar. _No label._ "Don't tell me you made this, too?"

"No, my friend Freya and her mother did. They make all kinds of marmalades and jams, and always give me some."

"Jam?" he asks hopefully.

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" He stands and goes to her fridge himself, opening it and peering inside. Grinning he produces two jars, strawberry and one other. He holds it to the light and decides it must be blueberry. "I think I've died and gone to heaven."

"And still you protest being called cute," she mutters, laughing at him yet again.

"Yeah, yeah, all right. _You_ are allowed. But only you."

Gwen quietly eats her bread with honey, the sweet syrup making her fingers sticky. Arthur works on his marmalade bread, his face blissful as he enjoys the sweet orange spread. "Wow, this is really good," he says, licking his fingers.

She sets her bread down and reaches for his hand, pulling it to her lips. He watches, transfixed and turned on, as she slowly and carefully licks the marmalade from his fingers.

Once done, she releases his hand, and he deliberately dips his other hand into the jar of strawberry jam; a challenge.

Without batting an eye she takes the jam-covered hand and, opening her dressing gown just a bit, drags his hand down her chest, wiping some of the jam on herself before inserting his index finger into her mouth, sucking it clean.

"Minx," he mutters gruffly, eyes closing, just absorbing the feeling of her lips and tongue on his fingers, her teeth as they gently nibble.

"You started it," she says, releasing his hand.

"Me?" he asks innocently, slowly creeping forward, eyes on the smear of jam between her breasts.

"The ice cream," she breathes as he drops to his knees in front of her, gently pushing her knees apart so that he can scoot in closer, dropping his head to her chest to press his tongue to her skin, drawing it up, lapping up the jam there. He slides his tongue as his hand pulls at the tie of her robe, loosening it.

He pulls at the gown, sucking the last of the jam from the side of her breast before leaning back to reach for the honey.

She leans back in the chair as he drizzles honey on her breasts, watching as the golden droplets fall, running slowly; glinting amber against her tawny skin. _Like liquid gold on milk chocolate._

Arthur yanks the gown fully open, diving back in, his tongue collecting each drop and streak as if they were precious jewels, lingering over her nipples, laving the honey from them, lingering longer than necessary, as if they were made of the sweet syrup.

He moves down to her stomach, careful to get each drop. His hands slide on her thighs, reaching around to cup her backside in his hands, squeezing the flesh there a bit.

"Arthur," she says, gathering her senses, "we're not having sex in the kitchen again."

"Oh?" he momentarily lifts his head from where his tongue was busy in her navel, and blinks at her.

"I do have a bed, you know."

"Convenient, that," he says, planting a kiss on her stomach and reluctantly returning to his seat.

Gwen gathers the halves of her dressing gown back together, her heart still beating fast. _Still a little sticky,_ she notes. She leans down and grants Arthur a soft, leisurely kiss before turning to the sink and a washcloth.

Arthur pouts a little, but finishes his bread with jam while she practically throws the dishes in the sink and carelessly stuffs the jars back into the fridge, the honey in the cupboard.

She turns back to him with a smile, seeing him looking forlornly at the cupboard where she'd just stashed the honey.

"I do not want honey on my bed sheets. I'll get ants," she says sternly. She slowly walks towards him, standing before him. "Now. Where were we?"

Arthur stands and takes her face in his hands, kissing her soundly. Her hands lightly rest on his chest, small and warm, and when he pulls away and opens his eyes he can see himself reflected in the darkness of hers.

She reaches up and takes his hand, pulling him from the kitchen.

"You're stronger than you look," he comments as she drags him along, down the hall and into her bedroom.

He doesn't even bother looking around. _It doesn't matter. It's her room, I'm in it, and there's a bed, and she's here._ She pushes him down on the bed and he falls back, a little surprised at her roughness. _But I like it._

Gwen stands before him, slowly pulling the tie on her dressing gown and sliding it from her shoulders. It falls to the floor and she stalks forward, a lioness on the prowl, as he watches from the bed, leaning back on his elbows.

She reaches down and opens his jeans, carefully pulling them down and off before tossing them aside.

Running her hands along his muscular legs, she gets a thoughtful look on her face. _I wonder…_ She takes his foot in her hand, massages it a little, then presses it to her breast, letting his toes brush her nipple, pressing them into the softness of the mound.

Arthur drops back, flat on the bed, with a groan. He curls his toes around the stiff nipple and she sighs, sliding her hands up and down his leg, scratching lightly with her nails. She takes his foot in her hands again, brushing the length of his sole lightly across the peak of her breast, letting him feel her nipple with the bottom of his foot.

 _Interesting,_ she thinks, removing his foot from her breast. She drags a fingernail along the bottom, just to see if he is ticklish. He jerks, and with a strangled, "Oh!" she has her answer.

Gwen moves to the bed, sitting beside him. He starts to sit up and move toward him, and she stops him with her foot on his chest, pressing him back down onto the bed. He reaches for her foot, but she is too fast for him, moving it down to slide on his manhood, stroking it with her foot.

"Oh, my God," he moans. _She is unbelievable._

She rubs him with her foot a few more times and then crawls over to him, straddling him. Leaning down, she kisses him, her tongue immediately in his mouth, demanding and hungry. He reaches up and takes a breast in one hand, his other wrapping around her, his palm caressing her back, her rear.

Gwen angles her hips, sliding her wetness on his stomach as she softly moans into his mouth. She releases his lips to move hers to his ear, his neck, his chest, kissing a circuit down, biting his nipples just hard enough to make him grunt his approval, then back up, flicking her tongue into his other ear.

"Say my name that way that makes me weak," she whispers into his ear.

 _How can I refuse?_ "Guinevere," he says, his voice like the honey he was licking from her body. She sighs, throwing her head back.

"Again," she says, moving her hips lower, positioning herself over him.

"Guinevere," he repeats, feeling her name on his tongue, caressing it with his lips, just as she lowers herself over him, taking him inside, as deep as he can go.

"Ooo," she moans, rocking her hips, her eyes closed.

Arthur feels puzzled as she moves over him, his feelings a torrent in his brain. _Surely she can't be real. This is a cruel dream. No one can be this beautiful and this naughty, this smart and sweet yet this wonderfully wicked. I've fallen hard. I've…_

The sting of her fingernails in his chest snaps his train of thought, and he opens his eyes to look at her, her beautiful face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, hair cascading down her back. He reaches up to take her breasts in his hands, squeezing, pinching lightly, flicking her nipples with his thumbs as she rides him.

"Oh," she gasps, her full lips forming into an 'o' as she moves over him, bouncing and rocking herself to ecstasy.

She starts to lean forward, wanting to kiss him, to be close, but he doesn't let her.

"I want to watch you," he says, breathing heavily.

"I… I want to kiss you," she gasps, her sanity hanging by a thread.

"Come here," he commands, pulling her down to him, kissing her deeply, his hands clutching her hair as his tongue assaults her senses.

"Ah," she breathes, pulling away, sitting back up, leaning back a bit, bracing her hands on his thighs, mindless of anything else.

He reaches forward and touches her with his thumb, rubbing the small nub between her thighs, pushing her over the edge quickly.

Gwen cries out loudly, her body exploding with sensation, heart pounding its way out of her chest, stars dotting her vision. _Holy shit, I'm actually seeing stars._

Arthur can take no more, watching the glorious display in front of him, and he thrusts his own hips upward into her, roaring his own release, his fingers clutching her thighs, head pressed back into the bed.

She collapses over him and he scoots them over so their heads are on the pillows.

They lie silently together, all gentle touches and soft kisses, gradually disentangling themselves from one another until she is curled beside him with her head on his shoulder.

It is getting dark, so she reaches over and flips on a lamp on her bedside table, bathing them in its soft glow.

"That was fun," Arthur finally says, and she giggles.

"Fun?"

"What you did with my foot? Wow."

"I was guessing. Wondering if it worked that way for you as well."

 _I love her willingness,_ he thinks, but says nothing. He just squeezes her and kisses her forehead.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur blinks his eyes open and looks at the clock on the bedside table. 11:15 p.m. He looks down at Gwen's sleeping form in his arms. _So sweet. So wonderful._

 _I could stay here all night and the rest of my life._ They fell asleep just over an hour ago, blissfully spent after a rather strenuous day.

 _Bugger. Iggy. Bloody cat. I have to go home, or he'll have my place a big mess._ He longingly looks down at Gwen again, and his heart hurts, wanting to stay. _I don't want her to think I'm taking off, never to return. Fucking cat._

Arthur eases himself out of the bed, gently kissing her forehead. She frowns and curls into the space he's created, then settles back in with a sigh.

 _Pee. Then trousers._ He pads through her small flat, finding his clothes after emptying his bladder. Back in her bedroom, he looks down at her, illuminated by the small bedside lamp they'd never gotten around to turning off.

Struck, he goes in search of a sheet of paper and a pencil.

xXx

Gwen wakes, a shaft of sunlight in her face. She groans and turns over, flopping her hand over. _He's gone. Bloody hell._

She sighs, her disappointment hurting more than she would care to admit. Opening her eyes, she looks at the clock. 8:24. _Well, I can go to church, anyway._

Rolling over again, she hears an odd crinkle. She lifts her head and sees a piece of paper on the opposite pillow.

_Dearest Guinevere,_

_Thank you for the amazing day. I_ promise _you I am not bailing on you. I have an ill-tempered arse of a cat that I need to go home and feed before he destroys the place. Yes, I_ know _how it sounds. But honest, I have a cat. His name is Iggy. That's the truth, and I ain't lion._

Gwen bursts out laughing at the unexpectedness of him making such a ridiculously horrible corny joke.

_I've left my number below, but you know where to find me._

_Love,  
Arthur_

_P.S. You look breathtakingly beautiful when you are sleeping._ \--

She turns the page over. He's sketched her while she slept. She sighs, her hand on her madly thumping heart, as she scans the drawing.

_It's gorgeous. He's captured every detail. The wrinkles in the sheets, every curl, every curve, every eyelash. The shadows falling at my hip, my shoulder. My kiss-swollen lips, slightly parted, my fingers clutching the edge of the blanket._

Gwen caresses the picture, careful not to smudge the pencil strokes. Then she flips it back over, and reaches for the phone to dial the numbers he's written at the bottom.

He answers almost immediately and sounds very happy to hear her voice.

"Thank you for the drawing. It's beautiful," she says.

"It's nothing. _You_ are beautiful," he argues.

"You're going to give me a large ego," she teases.

"Can I see you today?" he asks suddenly.

"I'm going to church this morning," she tells him.

"Oh. Can't compete with God, I suppose."

"Indeed not. But I've got nothing planned after."

"You know where to find me, Sweet."

Gwen smiles, finding she likes it when he calls her that. "That I do. See you later, then."

"Put in a good word for me," he says.

"Of course," she smiles, "'bye, Arthur." She hangs up, thinking, _Going to put in a word for Helios and Cenred as well. They need it more than Arthur does._

She swings her feet to the floor, and her phone rings, again. _Can't be Arthur, I didn't give him my number,_ she thinks, and lifts the handset.

"Hello?"

"You were supposed to call me!"

"Freya, I just woke up!"

"Did he spend the night?"

"No. He wanted to, but he had to get home before his cat wrecked his place."

"Yeah, right."

"Fray, I can hear your eyes rolling. But it's the truth. I just got off the phone with him, in fact."

"So I suppose you're seeing him again right away and have no time to spill all the juicy details?"

"No, I am going to church and you're coming with me."

"Breakfast first?"

"Of course. See you in half an hour at the café."

"Right."

xXx

"Gwen, you dirty whore!" Freya teases, reeling from all that Gwen has told her.

"Jealous," Gwen shoots back.

"Exceedingly."

Gwen laughs.

"So, he's what? Kind of a pervert?"

Gwen makes a face. "I hardly think 'pervert' is the correct word. He has his likes and dislikes, just like anyone else. Some of the things he likes are just a little… unusual, that's all." She shrugs.

"Honestly, I can't believe how… _casual_ you are about this."

"Well, he's just so relaxed about it, so matter-of-fact, that it makes it easy to not feel strange about it. I don't think I've ever met anyone brave enough to just stand up and essentially say, 'Hey, this is who I am, and I'm fine with it, and if you don't like it you can piss right off.' Which is kind of what he does. But in a nice way," she says, furrowing her brow.

"Hmm," Freya thinks about this. "I suppose you'll never find yourself wanting for a foot massage."

"That's always a plus."

"But still. You fell into bed _four times_ with a man you met that morning. A kinky punk with a foot fetish."

"Well, when you say it like _that,_ it does kind of make me sound like a dirty whore, doesn't it?" Gwen says, but she is laughing.

"I didn't mean that," Freya apologizes.

"I know. It was all so strange. He's actually very sweet. And smart. And talented."

"Talented?"

"He's an artist. Wait, here," Gwen digs into her purse and pulls out his note, carefully folded. She smoothes the paper and shows Freya the drawing.

"Oh, wow, that is really good," Freya sighs, taking the page. "He drew this when you were sleeping?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Gwen nods.

"Creepy," she says, eyes still riveted to the drawing.

"It's not creepy, it's sweet." Gwen takes the drawing and puts it back in her purse.

"Hey!"

"You staring at it like that was creepy," Gwen jokes. Freya sticks her tongue out at her.

"I just couldn't get over how _detailed_ it was," she explains.

The waitress brings their check, and Gwen looks at the clock. "Time to go," she declares.

"Yes, you need to pray for your eternal soul after your sinful activities yesterday," Freya says, laughing.

"Jealous," Gwen repeats.

"Does he have any friends? A brother? A… a distant cousin?"

xXx

"Did you hear from Drag at all after he left yesterday?" Leon asks Merlin. They are in their favorite spot, enjoying the warm sunshine of a Sunday morning. Merlin shakes his head no, frowning slightly.

"I would wager he's well-ensconced in a cozy bed somewhere not too far from here, his arms wrapped around a little warm body, his nose tucked into some chocolate-colored curls," Gwaine muses. Leon rolls his eyes.

"I hardly think so," Merlin says, somewhat unconvincingly. Then, brighter, "He would have had to go home at some point or Iggy'd've wrecked his flat. Again."

"All right, clever dick, where is he, then?" Gwaine asks, but just then the skulking figure of Cenred across the street takes their attention.

"He's got a lot of nerve," Ox says quietly, cracking his knuckles in a menacing sort of way.

Gwaine looks at Cenred, then squints to make sure he's seeing things straight. Suddenly he bursts forth with a loud laugh. "Oi! Cenred! You look like a raccoon eating a tomato!"

"Fuck off, Mick," Cenred hurls back, his voice slightly more nasal than usual.

"Oh, very clever, you are," Gwaine says. "You got some nerve coming back 'round here, you know."

"Why is that? This ain't _your_ street. I can bloody well walk where I please."

"Of course you can, mate," Gwaine waves his hand indulgently, motion out of the corner of his eye making him grin slightly.

"Hey Gwaine," Cenred starts up again. "When you see your girlfriend Drag, you can fucking tell him—"

"Tell me what, Beverly?" Arthur's voice, calm and low yet not without menace, interrupts him.

Cenred spins. "Oh. Um, right," he collects himself, shaken slightly by the surprise of seeing him so unexpectedly close. He tries to ignore the raucous laughter coming from across the way. "Yeah. You know my da's a barrister, right? Well, I'm going to do you for assault, I am."

"Oh, really?" Arthur asks, unperturbed.

"Yes, _really._ You broke my sodding nose. That's assault."

Arthur shrugs. "You would know, mate. But," he pauses, taking another step forward, "did you perhaps forget that the reason I broke your fucking beak is because _you_ were assaulting an innocent woman?"

"You can't prove that," he says weakly.

"I have five witnesses, including Guinevere, who will back me up. All you have is your idiot thug Helios."

"Who the hell is Guinevere?"

"The woman you assaulted. She has a name."

"Like I care."

"You should, mate. Her father is a DI at Scotland Yard."

Cenred pales slightly, but presses on. "You're yankin' me."

Arthur shakes his head. "Not in the slightest."

"What, so the two of you are great friends now? Did the bitch show her thanks by sucking your cock or something?"

Arthur clenches his fists, but keeps them at his sides. "Yes, we are friends now, in fact. And call her a bitch one more time and your nose won't be the only thing I'll have broken."

Cenred opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again.

"First smart thing you've done… ever, probably. Now," he says, "you even so much as _look_ at Guinevere again, you won't have just me to deal with, you'll have my mates across the street there as well," he hooks his thumb in the direction of his friends, and Cenred foolishly looks over to see four sets of eyes watching him very closely.

The lads don't know exactly what Arthur is saying to him, but they have a pretty good idea, so they endeavor to look as menacing as they can. Ox and Leon pull themselves up to their full heights, narrowing their eyes, Gwaine grins like the devil himself, and Merlin watches coolly, deceptively calm.

"Now piss off before I change my mind about pounding you some more," Arthur says, turning and crossing the street.

"Look at that grin," Gwaine remarks, watching as Arthur keeps catching himself smiling and twitches his lips back down, only to have the corners creep back up again.

"What are you wankers smirking at?" Arthur asks.

"Where did you disappear to yesterday, young man?" Gwaine challenges immediately. "No one saw or heard from you after you took off with your little sparrow." He loops his arm around Merlin's shoulders and dramatically says, "Your mother and I were worried sick!"

Merlin squirms away from him and gives him a shove. "So, what happened?"

"Lads, that girl is amazing," Arthur admits, giving in and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"She polish your knob, then?" Gwaine asks, earning him a slap on the back of his head from Ox. And Merlin.

"I am a gentleman, and gentlemen do _not_ discuss such things," Arthur says haughtily.

"That's a yes," Gwaine mutters, just as Leon asks, "Since when?"

"She made me brunch, and I, um, ended up hanging around her flat until dinner, which she also made for me."

"I tried calling you at 10:30, Drag," Merlin says, raising his eyebrow.

"Yeah, I didn't get home till just after midnight," Arthur says. "We fell asleep."

"Right. 'Asleep,'" Gwaine teases.

"Honest, we did. Eventually." The grin comes back again.

"You like her, then," Merlin declares.

"Yeah," he admits, eyes scanning the streets for any sign of her. _Bugger it all, I didn't ask what time she was done with church._

"Looking for her, mate?" Leon asks.

"She said she'd find me. After, um, church."

"Church?" Gwaine raises his eyebrows, surprised.

"Yes, church. What of it?"

"Nothing, I'm just surprised. I don't think I've ever seen you interested in a church-going bird before."

"I think it's lovely," Ox comments. "Someone should be praying for sinners like us."

"Oh, yes, surprising words indeed from the one who wants to be a cop," Arthur says sarcastically. "Wait. Cop. Guinevere's dad is a cop…" he muses.

"Whoa, whoa," Gwaine interjects before Ox can get more details. "Her dad's a cop and she goes to church? _And_ she likes _you?_ I need to sit down," Gwaine gropes blindly, pretending to feel woozy.

"Oh, piss off, you," Arthur dismisses him.

"Did you tell her about your… thing? With the feet?" Merlin carefully asks.

He nods. "She was cool."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I wouldn't say she was, like, _into_ it, but she was certainly a good sport," he grins again. "Seemed to be enjoying herself," he adds with a shrug. _Oh no, she was definitely enjoying herself._

Merlin smiles and chuckles, slapping Arthur on the shoulder. "Hang on to her, then."

"I sure as hell am going to try."

"Wait, wait, wait. I'm still recovering over here and now you spring on me that this church-going cop-daughter is willing to indulge your weird fucking kinks as well?" Gwaine pipes up again.

Arthur turns and looks at him, saying nothing.

"Lucky bastard," Gwaine finally says, and all five men start laughing, none of them noticing the petite figure that has just come into view.

"What's all this laughter?" she calls, and they all turn and watch her approach.

"Do you have a sister?" Gwaine immediately asks, and Arthur shoves him.

"Pay no attention to him," he says, smiling at her. "I hope you didn't wear that to church." She is clad in a white eyelet cropped peasant top, cut-off jean shorts, and wedge sandals, her smooth brown stomach contrasting alluringly with the white of her top. Her hair is braided so that it hangs over one shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know, I think _I_ just found religion," Gwaine comments, looking her up and down, noting her shapely legs and her navel winking at him from just above the button of her shorts.

Arthur glares at him while Guinevere laughs and approaches him, leaning up for a kiss. He gladly grants it, sliding his hands around her bare midriff, luxuriating in the feel of her skin beneath his hands once again.

"Hello," she says, smiling that smile again.

"Look at him," Leon whispers to Merlin. "He's so hooked." Merlin nods, agreeing.

"I'm sorry I had to leave," he says quietly to her, forgetting completely about the four other men.

"It's all right, I understand. And you apologized already anyway," she smiles, raising her hand to stroke his cheek.

"How was church?" he asks, his hands still at her waist, idly caressing her bare skin.

"Uplifting," she says with a smirk, and he can't tell if she is joking or serious. He puzzles for a moment and leans his head back down for another kiss. She smiles up at him, her special smile, as he leans in—

"I fucking _knew_ it!" Cenred shouts from the other side of the street, having slunk back out in time to see Arthur and Gwen greet one another.

Arthur instinctively steps between Gwen and the distant Cenred, and Gwaine and Leon start walking forward, into the street. Gwen peeks around Arthur's shoulder and sees that Cenred is sporting two black eyes and one very red and swollen nose. She snickers behind Arthur.

Cenred bolts as soon as Gwaine's boots step off the curb. As soon as he is out of sight, the laughter starts again.

"Fucking coward," says Gwaine.

"Idiot," mutters Leon as they turn back to rejoin the group.

"So how are my knights this morning?" Gwen asks, turning to Arthur's friends.

"Fantastic, as always," Gwaine answers.

"How are you doing, Gwen?" Merlin asks, angling his head to see if she bears any marks from Cenred's slap yesterday.

"I'm _fine,_ Merlin, really," she says, smiling at him, finding it impossible not to like the thin pale writer.

"What's this, then?" Merlin asks, pointing, as she turns her head. Her braid has shifted slightly revealing a red mark on her neck that looks rather suspiciously like…

"Oh. Never mind," Merlin says, blushing and dropping his hand.

Gwen quickly readjusts her braid, blushing as well, but too late.

"What? What?" Gwaine asks, leaning over to look.

"Nothing—Gwaine!" she exclaims, laughing despite herself when he shoves Arthur aside with a hip-check and lifts Gwen's braid, revealing the bite mark she received while pressed against the wall of her flat yesterday afternoon.

She grabs her hair back, still laughing, as Arthur bodily tosses Gwaine aside, firmly but carefully. He doesn't want to hurt his friend; he just wants to remove him.

"Sorry, Sweet, I didn't mean to leave a mark," he says quietly as Gwaine steps back over and flicks him on the ear.

"It's all right. Nothing a little creative hairstyling couldn't cover. Luckily it stayed put at church," she says, laughing again.

He bends and kisses the bite mark and gently puts her braid back in place.

"I will have to wear something with a higher neck to work tomorrow, though," she says, smirking at him.

"Sorry!" he apologizes again, while his friends start to snicker at them.

She leans in close to him, up on her toes. With a soft kiss, she whispers, "However, next time you feel the urge to sink your teeth in, perhaps you could do so in a less-visible spot."

"Mmm, I like the sound of that," he says, eyes twinkling.

She drops back down from her toes and turns, looking at the group. "Really, lads, it's like Satan's armpit out here today, and you all insist on trousers and boots. You're going to die of heat stroke."

It is indeed an oppressively hot day, humid, not a cloud in sight. The pavement shimmers in the heat and the birds are even quiet.

"Hey, I've got air conditioning," Arthur points to the massive holes in the knees of his very-worn jeans.

"And I've got no sleeves," Ox helpfully points out.

"You _never_ have sleeves, Ox," Leon says. "Even in winter."

"They're always too tight," he complains.

"He just likes to show off his arms," Merlin whispers, but he does so loud enough for them all to hear, even Ox, who reaches over to thump Merlin on the head, but the pointy spikes of hair give him pause.

"Defensive hairdo," Merlin says, grinning at Gwen, who laughs again. _I really like his friends._

"So, what is it you blokes do out here, anyway?" Gwen asks, wanting to know more about them. Arthur's hand snakes around her waist, holding her lightly, his thumb stroking her skin idly.

"Not much," Gwaine answers.

 _He's obviously the chatty one of the group,_ Gwen thinks.

"Smoke, have a bit of a chin wag, watch birds…"

"Loiter," Gwen supplies.

"Yeah, basically," he grins.

"And you have a tattoo parlor? Where is it?"

"Two blocks south, one over."

"Why don't you hang about there?"

"'Cause it's a total crap neighborhood," Arthur says.

" _And_ if I'm hangin' 'round outside my own place when it's not open, people want me to open up and ink them," Gwaine adds.

Gwen wrinkles her brow. "What kind of people?"

"Drunks, mostly," Arthur says. "We do try not to tattoo people when they're drunk," he adds.

"And you three, what do you do?" she asks.

"Um," Merlin starts, pausing.

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be nosy. I'm just a curious person," she explains hastily, a little embarrassed.

"No, no, it's all right. Leon manages a pub, and I'm a barman there. Really I'm a—"

"A writer, I know, Drag told me that," she smiles.

"Ox is the bouncer," Leon says, slapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm sure his mere appearance is security enough," she smiles at him, and is surprised when he blushes. "Which pub?"

"The Dragon's Head," Leon says. "You've never heard of it."

"You are correct there," she smiles.

"It's a punk pub. Next to Excalibur," Arthur explains.

"Excalibur?"

"Excalibur Tattoos," Gwaine says grandly.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Are you hungry? I could do with some lunch."

"Starving," Gwaine answers.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Yes, lunch would be nice," Gwen says, "what did you have in mind?"

"Fish and chips?"

"Yum. Then I want to see your flat," she says.

The lads wince and groan, worried about Iggy.

"What?" she asks, puzzled.

"Iggy," Leon says. "He doesn't like anyone."

"He likes me," Merlin says.

"That's because you smell like sardines," Gwaine jokes.

"He tolerates me, Leon, and Ox," Arthur explains. "He does inexplicably like Merlin, and none of us can understand why. But he hates Gwaine."

"Oh really?" Gwen is intrigued now.

"Well, he knows Gwaine hates him," Merlin explains.

"I don't _hate_ that fucking cat, I'm allergic to him. There's a difference."

"Not to him. He takes it personally," Merlin says.

"I'll take my chances," Gwen says, slipping her hand into Arthur's.


	7. Chapter 7

In the alley where Arthur's motorcycle is parked, away from prying eyes, in the shade of the tall buildings, Arthur pulls Guinevere into his arms to kiss her properly. Thoroughly.

She loops her arms around his neck, hanging on as he leans into her, parting her lips with his tongue, kissing her hungrily, deeply.

They come up for air, gazing into each other's dazed eyes, breathing heavily.

"You're hungry for more than lunch," she says, smiling her smile for him.

"Lunch first this time," he says quietly, briefly kissing her before stepping over to his bike.

Gwen climbs on behind, automatically pulling his leather jacket on once again.

"Good girl," he says, nodding at her.

"It's too hot, you realize," she says as she zips it up.

"Too bad. If you insist upon wearing such… _small_ clothes, then you have to wear the jacket."

Gwen laughs and waits while he fights with the machine, starting it on the second try with a triumphant whoop. She slides her hands around his torso, deliberately touching him as much as she can as she wraps her arms around him, holding on tightly as he peels out.

xXx

"Okay, are you ready?" Arthur asks as they descend the concrete stairs down to the door of his flat.

"This had better be some cat, with all the build-up you all have given him," she says, unconcerned.

"Well, we just had fish, so we should at least smell good to him. You've got your leftover piece?"

Gwen holds up the little bag with her last piece of fish inside. She had rolled her eyes when he suggested she keep it and bring it with as a peace offering, but complied anyway.

"He sometimes pounces, so I'll go in first," he says, turning his key in the lock and shoving the door open.

He steps inside, looking around, blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of his flat.

Gwen sidles in behind him, swiftly and quietly. "So?" she asks.

"I don't know where he is."

"Can you call him?"

"He's a cat. One may as well call a goldfish," he remarks, but just then, Iggy comes leaping down from a nearby ledge, shoving against Arthur's shins. "Aha," he says.

Gwen looks down and almost laughs. _This is Iggy? I was expecting a sleek black feline, stealthy and sinister, maybe missing an eye or something. This cat is an obese ginger ball of fur._

He's massive. Fat, spoiled and superior, he head-butts Arthur's shin once or twice and Arthur nudges him away with his boot.

Then Iggy notices Gwen. She stands still, looking down at him. "Hello," she says, and he pads forward, towards her.

Arthur is ready with his boot again, but Iggy merely winds his hefty orange body around Gwen's legs, purring.

_Purring._

"Well, I'll be buggered. He never purrs. Like, _never._ " Arthur is dumbfounded.

Gwen bends down and rubs a finger behind his ears, under his chin, and Iggy eats it up as if he were a cuddly kitten, contentedly closing his normally cold green eyes, purring louder.

"Who's a good boy, then?" Gwen coos, now crouching, handing the bag with the fish in to Arthur almost absentmindedly. "Yes, you are," she says, and he rolls onto his back for a belly rub, which she grants.

"Okay, now I'm getting jealous," Arthur says, still perplexed, bending to remove his boots.

"All right, Iggy, we can play later," Gwen says, scratching him under his chin one more time. He rolls to his feet and bounds away.

"What the fuck?" Arthur asks.

"I guess he likes me," Gwen shrugs and smiles, highly amused.

"I've had that bastard for three years and I have never seen him behave like that. Even when he was a kitten."

"Well maybe if you didn't call him a bastard he would like you more," she says, walking into his flat, looking around.

Unlike Arthur, who wasn't all that interested in the details of her apartment, Gwen pokes around, taking everything in, looking at the various pieces of art in various stages of doneness, even looking inside closets and cupboards. Arthur follows her around, amused.

"Well, you're a slob, I can see that," she assesses, stepping over a pile of records on the floor. "Don't get me wrong, it's not dirty, it's just cluttered."

"Merlin has a tendency to tidy up when he's here, and I think I've become dependent on it," Arthur admits.

"You let your best friend clean your flat?" she turns to him, eyebrows raised.

"I don't _let_ him do anything. He just does it. Claims he can't help it. Neat freak, I guess," he shrugs.

She turns her attention to the walls, which are covered in paintings, murals done right on the cement block.

"You must have a very lenient landlord," she notes, tracing a dragon very similar to the one on his shoulder with her finger.

"I have to cover this all up white if I ever move out. That was the condition."

"Pity," she says, moving along to a giant tree overlooking a meadow, a pond in a valley, a sunset over the ocean, an abstract geometric black and white affair, all straight lines and shapes; a giant koi fish with a long flowing tail, and finally, in one corner, a beautiful blonde woman who looks suspiciously like Arthur.

"Your mother?" she asks. He nods. "She was beautiful. You do look very much like her," she says, turning to look at him. "Especially the eyes."

"It's from a picture I found crammed in the back of my father's desk when I was a kid."

She nods.

"I nicked it, but he caught me a month later, so I had to do this from memory," he says.

"Really? Wow. I mean, I've never seen the picture, but wow."

"I have… kind of a unique memory. It's very visual, almost like a camera," he says with a shrug, following Gwen as she wanders to the kitchen.

"Whoa, tiny," she says, "where do you eat?"

"On the sofa, mostly," he says. "I never got a table. No room."

She looks around, amused by three large apothecary jars on the counter. One is full of lemon drops, the second red licorice ropes, and the third M&Ms.

"Your stash?" she points to the jars with a smile.

"Of course. Help yourself."

"Oh, very generous of you," she says, taking a small handful of M&Ms.

She opens the fridge. _Bottles of ale, a packet of sausages, a couple eggs. No vegetables. Oh, look, an apple._ She chuckles and closes the fridge.

"What?"

"You're such a man," she says, smirking and lightly stroking his cheek.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he counters. "Come on," he says, taking her hand and walking over to the one somewhat bright corner of his living room where he has an easel set up.

She follows, and gasps when she sees the beginnings of what is clearly her face on the canvas, in two-thirds profile, head inclined slightly downward. Her expression is soft and pensive, a very small smile touching the corners of her lips.

"It's still just a rough sketch," he says, frowning at it, but Gwen is fascinated.

 _Did he say rough sketch? This is rough?_ "When did you do this?"

"This morning. After I got done talking to you on the phone."

"It's amazing."

"Thank you. You don't mind?"

"Not at all. I'm quite flattered, really," she says shyly.

"I told you I was going to draw and paint you a lot. You were warned, Guinevere," he says, one corner of his mouth curving up in a half-smile.

She leans up and kisses his cheek, and looks over his shoulder. "Is that your room?" she asks, walking towards the half-open door.

"Um, yeah," he says, sounding strangely uneasy.

She goes in and looks around, noting the posters on the wall, all bands. The Sex Pistols, The Clash, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy Pop, The Ramones, Wire. His bed is a mattress on the floor, which doesn't surprise her, and there are clothes scattered around.

Something familiar catches her eye next to his bed and she walks over.

"Guinevere," he starts.

"Are those my sandals?" she asks, knowing the answer is yes.

"Um…"

"I was looking for those this morning, you pervert!" she exclaims, turning to look at him, her hands on her hips.

 _Is she trying not to smile?_ "I was going to give them back," he says sheepishly.

"Oh? When, exactly? When you've gotten them all good and _molested,_ perhaps?" Her lips twitch slightly, and Arthur is now convinced that she's trying very hard not to laugh.

"Um, when you noticed they were gone," he answers sheepishly, stepping forward.

"Arthur. They are shoes, and I am a woman. How long did you _think_ it would take me to notice?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

"You didn't… _do_ anything to them, did you?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No! Honest, I just…" he trails off. _I don't really want to tell her, but I'm going to have to._

"What?" she says, bending to retrieve her shoes.

"They spent the night on the other pillow," he says quietly, looking down.

"You are strange," she says, leaning up to kiss him before sweeping from the room, sandals in hand, laughing.

He slouches, relieved.

Arthur walks back out into his living room to find her setting the sandals next to the door and removing the ones she's wearing.

"If you want to borrow a pair of my shoes or my knickers or want any other little souvenir, Arthur, you just need to ask," she calmly says, now barefoot. She hears a meow from above and looks up to see Iggy perched in the high window, looking for her attention. She blows him a kiss and turns her attention back to Arthur.

"Really?" he asks, blinking in disbelief.

"Yes," she says, walking forward, towards him. "Arthur," she says, "I want to tell you something."

"Uh-oh," he says, sitting on the couch.

She smiles, and he relaxes.

"When I told you that I quite liked you yesterday, that wasn't just the… lust talking. I really do like you," she says, biting her lip, starting to lose her nerve. _No. You need to get this out or you'll never say it._

"I like you a lot, actually. I've never met anyone like you," she continues, letting him pull her down beside him. "And I mean that in a good way. You're…"

"Yes?" he asks quietly.

"Refreshing," she settles on.

"Refreshing?"

"I know, it sounds awful. What I mean is that I've never met someone so lacking in pretense. You are who you are and if people have a problem with it, then it's their problem, and you don't let it bother you. You don't put up a front by being who you think other people want you to be. There's no bullshit. The rest of the world is too interested in what everyone else thinks about them, but you're only interested in what makes you happy. But not in an arrogant or self-centered way. You care. The fact that you wouldn't stand by while Helios and Cenred tried to do… whatever it is they were going to do, speaks volumes to your character."

"I helped you because it was _you._ "

"You would have helped anyone in that situation," she says, taking his hand in between hers. "I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," she quietly adds when he doesn't say anything.

"Oh, sorry, you're not," he says suddenly. "I was just trying to decide if I can say what I want to say." He bites his lip.

"Well, now you have to say it, because you brought it up," she says lightly.

"I want you to be my girl," he says plainly. "I don't want any more of Gwaine's leftovers or any of those idiotic twats that hang around the pubs. I want you, and only you."

"Oh," she says, her breath leaving her, swallowing.

"If I'm going too fast for you, I understand," he says quietly, a little worried about her lack of reaction. "I've had my eye on you for a whole month now, you know. I guess I've fallen pretty hard, and—"

She silences his lips with her own, a hard, urgent kiss delivered as she leaps into his lap, knocking him backward onto the cushions of the couch.

"Yes, Arthur," she whispers between kisses, "I'm yours."

His hands come around her waist, sliding his palms against her soft skin, creeping up her back, poking his fingers under the elastic hem of her top, simultaneously holding her and working the small garment off.

"Did you make this, too?" he asks when her lips travel over to his ear, closing over his earlobe.

"Mmm-hmm," she answers, her tongue teasing. "Do you like it?" she asks, her voice low and soft in his ear.

"Yes," he grunts, pulling it over her head and tossing it to the floor. He looks down at it. "It looks smashing on my carpet."

She laughs, and he leans over her, pushing her back, off of him, and with a kiss, he stands, pulling her up to her feet and then scooping her up into his arms.

"Oh!" she squeals as she is hoisted off her feet and carried back into his bedroom. She leans in and kisses his neck, opening her mouth against his skin to lightly bite.

Arthur groans and gently places her on his bed, pulling his own shirt off before dropping down beside her. He gazes down at her and reaches over to stroke her cheek, down her neck. His hand drifts and he pulls the elastic from the end of her braid, setting it on the table next to his bed. He works the braid free and then delves his hands into her hair, threading his fingers through, spreading her curls around to tumble over her shoulders.

She reaches up for him and pulls his head down, her lips parted and waiting for his. He claims her lips and her tongue dances with his, exploring the now-familiar contours of his mouth.

He slides his hands around to unclasp her bra, tossing it aside to land on the floor with his shirt and the other random articles of his clothing strewn about.

"They are so perfect," he mutters, his hands reaching to touch her breasts as he returns his lips to hers, leaning her back against the pillows, shoving at the rumpled bedclothes.

His hands caress her skin, his thumbs rubbing her nipples to stiff nubs before he takes over with his lips, his tongue sweet torment against the sensitive mounds.

Arthur reaches down and unfastens her shorts, trailing kisses down her stomach as he works the garment down over her hips. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her knickers as he goes, sliding them both down over her lean legs, chasing them with kisses until they are tossed somewhere in his room.

"I had better be able to find those later," she absently says as he gathers both of her feet in his hands, kissing them only briefly this time before crawling slowly back up over her body.

"All of you is perfect," he comments, sliding his hands up over her cinnamon skin, drinking in the sight of her, the feel of her.

"I'm glad you think so," she chuckles, her hands cupping his face as it comes back to her. He kisses her again, his lips soft and warm and moist, tasting her, cherishing her.

Gwen reaches down to his jeans and he immediately assists. They are gone in no time, and she pushes him onto his back so she can do a little appreciating herself.

"You're not so bad yourself, you know," she smiles at him, running her hands down his chest, his stomach, over his hips and down his thighs, deliberately avoiding the part of him that is sitting up and demanding her attention.

"Don't tease me, woman," he moans when she reverses the direction of her hands and still avoids touching him. He closes his eyes and leans his head back into the pillows.

Giggling quietly, she shifts position and takes his length in her mouth, holding the base of his shaft with her hand.

Surprised by her actions, he groans long and loud, his hand groping for her, grabbing a handful of her hair as she moves her mouth on him, sucking and licking. Her hand grips him, reaching beneath to squeeze gently, working in concert with her lips and tongue as she drives him mad with pleasure.

He releases her hair and moves his hand down her body, wanting to touch her, to feel her skin, something. He finds her waist and pulls towards himself. She moves her body again, angling so he can reach her, and he slips his fingers in between her legs.

Guinevere moans as he touches her, her mouth still full of him, still sliding and caressing, all lips and tongue and gently-applied teeth.

He slides a finger into her, then two, and she releases him from her lips, another moan escaping.

"Come up here," he says, "I want to be inside you."

His simple request makes her heart race and she shifts position again. Arthur dives over her, pushing his hardness against her, not entering her, just touching. Teasing.

He slides against her and she sighs, her hands on his chest, eyes closed. He bends his head to take a breast into his mouth as he pushes forward again, entering her easily.

"Arthur…" she breathes his name, her hands holding his head against her breast. He moves his hips, smooth and gentle and slow, savoring her.

She feels the edges of his teeth grazing her nipple and she cries out softly, hooking a leg around him.

He bites the tiniest bit harder and she cries out again, gripping his shoulders as he kisses a trail up her neck, returning to her lips.

"Guinevere," he whispers against her, speeding the motion of his hips some, increasing the intensity.

"Yes…" she breathes, her hands roving his chest again.

"Tell me what you want," he says roughly, pulling his lips away, raising up to support himself on his hands so that he can see her.

"Oh… harder…" she gasps.

He obliges, thrusting harder, watching her.

"Yes," she responds, arching her back. "Faster."

Grunting, he moves faster as well, smiling a little smugly at her reactions.

"Yes… oh, Arthur… oh…"

Her hands grab his arms, gripping tightly, her head thrashing as she comes, crying out, her whole body twitching and quivering beneath him.

"Guinevere," he repeats, his voice rough as he follows her climax with his own, washing over him, engulfing him as he collapses over her, gathering her into his arms.

"You are wonderful, do you know that?" he says, his face tucked into her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"It sounds familiar," she says, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw.

He chuckles and rolls off of her, holding her close beside him. She reaches down and pulls the sheet up over them.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"I'm fine. I just want a cover, that's all," she says, cuddling into him. "It's actually quite cool and comfortable down here."

"One of the nice things about living in a basement. Total crap in the winter, though."

"Still cold?"

"Frostbitten," he says, toying with her curls, winding them around his fingers, gently pulling them straight and letting them spring back.

They lie quietly together, snuggling and touching.

 _I'm very comfortable with him. He's easy to be comfortable with,_ she thinks, turning her head slightly to gently kiss his chest.

He sighs, content, giving her a squeeze and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The phone rings, and they both jump, snapped out of their quiet solitude by an interloping telephone.

"Bugger," Arthur says, getting up and picking up the phone. "Hello," he says crossly.

"Is that any way to greet your favorite sister?" Morgana's voice teases him from the other end.

He grabs the phone and yanks it, freeing the cord, pulling it with him so he can sit back on the bed.

"To what do I owe the honor of your precious time, Mo?" he asks with mock sweetness. He looks at Gwen and mouths "my sister." She nods, snuggling into the sheets and closing her eyes, resting while he talks.

"Okay, now I'm going to be sick. Am I interrupting something, perhaps?"

"Not really."

"Well, I was calling to let you know that I'll be in town next week and I want to see you."

"Visiting the main office, then?"

"Of course. Must report to Daddy Dearest, you know."

"Uh-huh," he says vaguely. "Don't try anything this time, though. With Dad and me. I want you to promise that if I'm meeting you for dinner it'll be _just_ you, not you and him like last time."

"Oh, God, do you really think I'd try that again? You were both so mad at my double ambush that I was afraid I'd lost my father, brother, _and_ my job. No thanks."

"Good."

Just then, Guinevere sneezes, suddenly and loudly. He looks over at her, and her eyes widen. "Sorry!" she whispers, giggling quietly in spite of herself. He smiles understandingly, but groans inwardly, knowing he's in for the third degree now.

"Who was that? And don't tell me it's Merlin, because that was _clearly_ a woman's sneeze."

"You're right, that wasn't Merlin," he says, and Gwen tucks her face into the pillow and giggles.

"Ugh, don't tell me you've got some silly random trollop over for a little Sunday afternoon romp," she says, groaning into the phone.

"No, she isn't some silly random trollop," he says, poking Gwen in the shoulder because she's laughing even harder now, pillow over her head.

"Oh? Arthur…" she prods.

"Her name is Guinevere."

"Ooo, fancy. So who is she, exactly?"

"Ah…" he stalls.

"Arthur David Pendragon, do you actually have a _girlfriend?_ " she asks, sounding exactly like she did when they were kids.

"Yes. She's my girlfriend, all right? Satisfied now?"

"Yes, thank you. So. Is she another bloody punk?"

"No, she's not a punk."

"How did you meet her?"

"Mo, do we need to have the interrogation right this instant?"

"Very well. Just tell me how you met her and I'll save the rest for next week. And I expect to meet her, Arthur. If she's able to put up with you for that long."

He sighs again. "Helios and Cenred were trying to rough her up. Or something. I'm not exactly sure what they were on about, but I stopped them."

"Excuse me, _I_ stopped Helios myself," Gwen pipes up.

Morgana laughs. "I heard that. Those two wankers still slinking around town?"

"Yeah. I broke Cenred's nose, though," he says brightly.

"Excellent. So now I'm curious. How did she stop Helios?"

"She kneed him in the bollocks."

Gwen can Morgana's laughter as Arthur has had to pull the receiver from his ear. "I like her already."

"Okay, no more questions. See you next week."

"Love you, Brother."

"Love you, too, Mo."

Arthur hangs up the phone, looks down at Gwen, and just says, "Bless you."

Guinevere falls to laughter again, pulling the sheet up over her head.


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur climbs back into the bed, snuggling against her now, his head on her chest.

"Shit," he suddenly says, getting up again.

"What?" she asks, sitting up as well, holding the sheet to her chest.

"Have to pee," he says, wandering to the bathroom.

Guinevere chuckles and lays back down.

Iggy comes bounding into the room, hopping up onto the bed, graceful despite his plumpness.

"Hello, Baby," Gwen says, sitting up again to rub his ears. He flops down against her legs and she strokes his back from ears to tail.

"Ig: Off the bed. You know better," Arthur says, walking back in.

Gwen scowls at him and stops petting the cat, who doesn't move. He looks at Gwen and meows, as if he is asking for her input.

"Sorry, Iggy, King Arthur has spoken," she sweetly says to him and he hops down. Gwen turns slightly, curling her legs beside her, to watch Iggy swat at a small stuffed cloth mouse he's somehow found amongst the discarded clothes.

After a minute, she realizes that Arthur hasn't come back into the bed with her.

She starts to turn towards him, but his voice stops her.

"Don't move."

She goes back to where she was. "Um…?"

Out of the corner of her eye she sees him pull on a pair of athletic shorts, the kind one would wear for jogging or playing football. He steps to the bed and tugs the sheet this way and that, placing it just so, then reaches up and arranges her hair over her shoulder.

"Am I a bowl of fruit?" she asks, obediently sitting still.

"Something like that," he says, stepping back to look again. He steps forward and tugs the sheet just a fraction lower, exposing as much of her back as he can without going too low.

"Okay. Stay not moving," he says as he jogs out of the room, returning a moment later with a large pad of paper and a fistful of pencils.

"My bum had better not be hanging out," she threatens, trying to relax while staying still.

"It's not, I promise. It's placed just right. I want to see the curve of your hip, but your modesty is intact."

"Thank you."

"You have a beautiful back, Guinevere," he says. She can hear the scratch of his pencil against the paper as he works.

"Do I? Not really a part of myself with which I am familiar, you know."

"Fancy grammar, you. You'll be an editor in no time."

She snorts, impressed that he noticed.

"My sister is coming into town next week," he says after a few moments. "Shit," he mutters, and she can hear him set the pencil down, followed shortly by the soft rubbing noise as he erases a few marks he doesn't like.

"Is that why she called? Where does she live?"

"She runs the Glasgow office of Pendragon Financial. She comes into town periodically to report to Father."

"So you are on good terms with her, but not your dad," she states.

"Yep. Like I said, she can be quite a bitch, but deep down she's okay."

"Wow, high praise," Gwen says sarcastically.

"Well, it's the bitch that makes her successful."

"Married?"

He laughs.

"I'll take that as a 'no,' then."

"She and Gwaine tend to meet up for a casual shag now and then, but beyond that she's single."

"How lovely. I have an itch on my nose."

"You may scratch."

"Thank you."

"She wants to meet you. If… what did she say? If you can put up with me for that long."

Gwen laughs now. "I'd love to meet her."

"You say that now," he cryptically says.

She hears Arthur stand and walk over. _Can I move yet?_ she wonders, but he simply adjusts the sheet again, moving it just slightly so her toes peek out from under the edge of the sheet.

"Need some toes," he says, going back to his chair.

"Of course you do," she laughs.

"Almost done, hang in there, Sweet. You're doing really well."

"Thank you. I think my leg is asleep."

"Sorry."

"Oh," she remembers. "Speaking of siblings and travel…"

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to visit my brother in a couple weeks."

"Oh? For how long?"

"Um, ten days."

"Oh."

 _He sounds disappointed._ "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. I'm allowed to be sad you're going to be gone, but don't be sorry for it. You'll have a bloody great time, I'm sure."

"It's been planned for months, actually."

"I can imagine. You'd better bring me a souvenir."

"I'll see what I can find for you," she says, smiling.

"Stop smiling, your cheek is moving."

"Sorry," she says again, still smiling. "Now I can't stop!" she exclaims, giggles overtaking her.

"Guinevere!"

She twitches the corners of her lips down, puckering them and forcing her face back to a neutral expression. "I thought you said you were almost done."

"I am."

"What about your photographic memory?"

"It's easier this way. And I'm working on your face, so shut up."

She snorts again, but keeps still and quiet. _I can't feel my right leg. My arm is getting stiff. I have to pee and I feel all sticky between my legs. Gah! My toe is cramping up! Ow ow ow ow!_

"Okay, I'm done. You can move."

Gwen groans and flops backward, splaying her limbs like a corpse. She lifts her foot up, rubbing, pushing her toes back.

"Problem?"

"Toe cramp."

"Here," he sits on the bed and takes her foot into his lap and carefully works it, stretching it back to life. She closes her eyes and smiles, remembering Freya's comment at breakfast about never wanting for a foot massage.

She feels him start to lift her foot to his lips. "Arthur," she says.

"Hmm?" he asks, dotting kisses along her arch.

"I need to use the loo."

"Oh," he says, kissing her big toe before returning her foot to her.

Gwen looks around a moment and reaches down, grabbing a t-shirt from the floor beside the bed. She lifts it to her nose for a sniff, and, finding it passable, throws it on over her head and heads for the bathroom.

A few minutes later, she returns. Arthur watches her walk in wearing his Clash t-shirt and smiles at her. "So, did you look through my medicine cabinet?"

"You're almost out of toothpaste," she says, grinning. "Let me see it."

"For a price," he challenges, lounging back in his chair.

"No pockets in this dress," she says, patting herself down.

Arthur laughs and she climbs into his lap, taking his face in her hands and softly touching her lips to his, moist and luxurious. He lounges, letting her do the work, letting her lips taste his, opening them only when bidden to do so by her.

She slides her tongue forward and he allows her in, allowing her to deepen the kiss while his hands find their way around her, one creeping below the shirt to grasp her hip.

"Hold on, I want to see the picture first," she says, pulling back.

"Very well," he sighs, as if it is a great hardship. Gwen laughs at him, scampers off his lap, and returns to the bed. He hands her the sketchpad and she forgets to breathe.

She is seated on the bed, the sheet gathered around her, swept around almost like a toga. It is perfectly placed yet it looks like it just fell that way, as if she just sat up. _The curve of my hip – he was correct to include it, the line of my spine, the angle of my shoulder, my arm bent, holding the sheet, my hair cascading just so. It's brilliant. But… is that me? Is that really me?_

"Say something," he says quietly.

_He's worried I don't like it?_

"Is this how you see me?" she asks gently, just as quietly. "I mean, it's beautiful. It's… phenomenal. But…"

"Guinevere, I keep telling you how beautiful you are. Don't you know it?"

She looks up at him, reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the drawing. She can see the intensity in his gaze, the fire of his feelings for her mixed with the flow of his creativity, his inspiration.

"No, you don't, do you?" He reaches over and strokes her cheek with his thumb. "This," he indicates the drawing in her lap, "and that canvas out there," he points out the bedroom door, "is how everyone sees you, Sweet. Not just me."

"I think you may be a bit partial, Arthur," she says, smiling weakly.

"Ah, but you forget," he says, standing and taking the sketchpad from her, carefully setting it aside, "my mates and I have been watching you walk past us, on the other side of the street, for a month now."

Gwen laughs at his remark, but allows him to continue.

"Gwaine nearly dropped his teeth first time you walked past." He sits down beside her on the bed.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, I had to assert myself as the alpha male of the pack or he would have crossed the street and chatted you up immediately."

Gwen laughs loudly at this. "Alpha make of the pack? What are you, a wolf?"

"What do _you_ think?" he asks suggestively, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"So now there are two things about which I'm curious."

"Okay."

"How, exactly, did you 'assert yourself as the alpha male' over Gwaine?"

"I grabbed him by the shoulder and said in his ear, as menacingly as I could, 'I saw her first.' 'Cause I did, you know."

"So you called dibs on me?" she asks, eyebrows rising.

"Um, yeah…"

"And he honored that?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my God, you are such children!" she exclaims, laughing again, falling back on the bed.

He dives over her, trapping her beneath him, his arms on either side of her head. "And what was the second thing?" He leans down and kisses her.

"What held you back?"

"Huh?"

"From talking to me. I had to get assaulted for you to come talk to me," she says, but she is smiling.

"How would you have reacted, honestly? You know, some random guy on the street just coming up and talking to a bird he fancies? Especially when you look like you and I look like me. I was waiting for an opportunity to not seem creepy."

"Should I send thank-you cards to Helios and Cenred?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, her fingers tracing the tattoo on his shoulder.

"No. I don't think they can read, anyway."

She laughs and he kisses her again, pushing his hips forward against her, the thin material of the shorts he's wearing disguising nothing.

He stops and looks at her. "How old are you?"

Gwen chuckles, amused, and answers, "Twenty-three." She kisses him back and asks, "You?"

"Twenty-four," he answers quickly, eager to return his lips to hers for more. But then he stops again. "What's your last name?"

She laughs now. "Degrance. And I already know yours." She slides her leg along his, skimming the sole of her foot along his calf as she pulls his face back down to hers.

He kisses her, his tongue plunging into her mouth, sliding against hers as his hand slides up under the t-shirt she has on, shoving at it impatiently.

"Dear God, woman, how do you do this to me?" he asks huskily between kissing her and pulling her shirt off.

"Me?" she gasps, "I was a good girl before you showed up." She pulls his shorts off and flings them with a devilish grin.

"Agree to disagree," he mutters, nibbling her ear, his hands busy at her breasts. "You from London originally?"

"No," she says as he sucks greedily but carefully at the skin of her neck, trying not to leave any more marks. "We moved here when I was twelve. I was born in… Devon."

"Where did you—"

"Stop talking, Arthur," she says, taking his manhood in her hand, sliding her palm along its length, squeezing gently.

"Okay," he says, which makes her laugh again. His fingers travel lower to find her moist and ready for him again as his lips find a nipple, his tongue coaxing it to life.

He drops his hips to rub his shaft against her, and she helps, guiding him with her hand, using the head to stroke her sensitive folds.

He groans at the sensation, and she smiles smugly until his teeth taunt her stiffened and sensitive nipple again, and she cries out softly.

Arthur pulls away from her and she gives him a puzzled look until he grabs her and flips her over onto her stomach, running his hands along the soft skin of her back, chasing with his lips, trailing kisses up and down, even lightly biting her bum, causing her to yelp in surprise.

She feels him kneel between her legs and lift her hips. "Oh!" she exclaims, gathering the pillow in her arms to support her head as he gently pushes forward, entering her slowly from behind.

Gwen hears him moan as she arches her back, angling her hips to give him better access, and he moves back and slides forward, farther in this time, his hands gripping her hips. He finds his rhythm, rocking her body forward with each thrust, his hips slapping against her buttocks.

She clutches the pillow, gasping with pleasure. Arthur glides one hand up her back and grabs her hair, carefully wrapping it around his hand and pulling gently, just hard enough.

"Oh," she breathes, and he tugs again, a little less gently, but still not hurting her. "Arthur," she cries out, her voice muffled by the pillow she now has her face pressed into, pulling against his hand in her hair.

He slides his other hand around and touches her, flicking her swollen bundle of nerves as he thrusts, releasing her hair. _I can only do so many things at once,_ he realizes and decides to abandon her hair to concentrate on more important places.

Gwen moans as he strokes her, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more urgent. Her knees ache and her spine is beginning to protest, but she hardly notices due to the flurry of sensation overtaking her, building and building until she feels full and overflows, screaming out his name into the pillow, biting it.

Arthur moves his hand away to grasp her hips once again, moving furiously now, growling as he finishes, pushing deep within her and stilling as he releases into her warmth.

"Guinevere…" he groans, and gently tumbles them over, so they are on their sides. He spoons up behind her, gathering her to him, still nestled within her.

She sighs, her breathing still slowing, and he buries his face in her hair.

They lay together, his arm wrapped around her waist. She traces the lines and sinews of his arm with her fingertips, down to his broad hand, noticing for the first time that he has very nice hands with long, tapered fingers and clean fingernails. Her fingers continue their exploration, touching his talented fingers, caressing the callous on the side of his middle finger, surely from hours of gripping pencils and paintbrushes.

"Lilacs," he says suddenly.

"Hmm?" she pauses her exploration of his arm and hand and turns her head.

"You smell like lilacs. Especially your hair."

"Very good," she says, "not many men can identify that scent."

"One of my favorites," he admits. "One of the better memories I have from home is of the large lilac bushes we had outside. My mother planted them."

"So they remind you of her," she says, sad for him.

"I remember in May when they would bloom and the wind would blow…"

"The scent would get carried on the breeze," she finishes, knowing what he was going to say.

"And it was like she was saying hello; watching over me," he says into the safety of her hair. _Why am I telling her all this?_

She smiles and squeezes his hand.

"I've never told anyone that before. I don't know why I told you, actually."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me something you've never told anyone." She snuggles back against him and her motion finally releases him from her.

"Oh!" he exclaims, jumping slightly at the sensation while she giggles.

"So tell me something now. Something you've never told anyone."

She thinks a moment, unsure if there's anything she can share. _Oh. There's that._ "My parents divorced because my mother was unfaithful."

"You've never told anyone that?"

"My father doesn't know. He thinks she was just unhappy. He doesn't know that she was seeing someone else. It's not easy being married to a policeman, so she went with that excuse. Elyan doesn't know, either."

"Does she know you know?"

"No."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen. El was fourteen."

"Rough. To know something like that and have to hold it inside."

She nods, and sighs. "They're not even together any more. Mum and Jean-Baptiste."

"Ooo la la, so that's why she lives in France, oui?"

"Oui," she chuckles. "She moved there for him and he dumped her two weeks later."

"Charming."

"Oui."

"So how is it you know?"

"I found a card in her car. We were going shopping, and she forgot her wallet. She ran into the house to get it, and I opened the glove box, looking for some gum. There was a card. A pink envelope with some hearts in the corner, and the name Jean-Baptiste written on it in my mother's hand."

"Oof."

"I closed the glove box and tried to pretend I didn't see anything. Shopping was no fun at all. The next week they sat El and me down after a very stilted dinner to tell us they were getting a divorce. Luckily we were old enough to have noticed that there was stress in the marriage, so I didn't have to bother to act surprised."

Arthur squeezes her again, and she turns around in his arms. He traces her cheek with his finger. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. And thank you for telling me."

She leans up and kisses him tenderly, lovingly, and they each suddenly understand the safety of the other. _I can tell her anything,_ he realizes, and his heart feels as though it is expanding to allow her in.

 _He doesn't judge. He knows how to listen,_ she thinks, and she starts to feel a little more complete.

xXx

"Are you hungry?" Arthur asks, kissing her awake.

"Why did you let me fall asleep?"

"Well, I didn't want to be the only one sleeping," he says, grinning at her.

She laughs and cuddles against him. "I like waking up in your arms."

"I like waking up with you in my arms." _I really, really do._ "So?"

"Hmm?"

"Food?"

"Yes."

"Pizza? I can order us some pizza."

"At this point I could eat the cardboard box in which it comes," she says, sitting up and stretching. "What time is it?"

"Around seven."

"Bloody hell, no wonder I'm starving!"

Arthur leans over and kisses her again before standing and pulling his shorts on again. He hears her laughter behind him and turns. "What?"

"Your hair. It's all… wonky."

He reaches up and feels that his Mohawk has folded and divided itself, sticking up in places and flattened out in others. He chuckles and shrugs. "Yeah, that'll happen," he offhandedly says as he goes out in search of a pizza menu while Gwen stands and goes in search of her clothing.


	9. Chapter 9

"Stay," he asks, taking her hands in his.

"Arthur, I'd love to…"

"But…"

" _But,_ I have to work tomorrow morning. I have nothing to wear, no toothbrush, and no _car._ You'll have to take me home," she says gently.

"I suppose you're right."

"But if you want to pack yourself a small bag…"

He hops up before she even finishes her sentence and heads back to the bedroom and bathroom to carelessly throw a few essentials into a small duffel bag. He returns two minutes later.

"Ready," he announces.

Guinevere laughs and stands. "I think we had better clean this up first," she says, motioning to the pizza box and the remains of their dinner.

"Oh. Right."

They finish cleaning up, and before they leave, Gwen finds Iggy perched in the windowsill glaring down at them. She pulls a chair over and stands on it, bringing her face close to his furry orange one.

"Iggy, Arthur is going to stay at my house tonight. You'll be a good boy, right?" she coos to him, scratching him behind his ears. After a moment or two, he gives in and purrs for her, leaning his face forward to nuzzle her nose. "Thank you, Baby." She kisses the top of his head and hops down to see Arthur staring at her again, bemused and impressed.

"Let's go," she says to him, breezing past. She stops and picks up her purloined shoes and turns back to him. "Here. _Just for transport,_ mind," she says, shoving the sandals into his bag with a laugh.

"You're no fun at all," he says, unsuccessfully trying to pout.

xXx

As they walk up to Gwen's door, she can hear her phone ringing on the other side, so she scrambles to unlock the door and sprints to the phone.

"Hello?" she gasps.

"Guinevere? What's wrong? Are you all right? I've been trying to call you all day!"

"Daddy, I'm fine, just out of breath. I was just coming in and I heard the phone ringing so I ran."

Arthur pulls her sandals out of his bag and makes a big show of waving them around in the air for her to see before setting them down.

She stifles a giggle and waves a hand at him. _Stop it, shut up!_

"So where have you been all day?"

"Well, I went to breakfast and church with Freya, and then I spent the day with, um, a friend."

Arthur's eyebrows raise and he gives her a sideways look.

"A _friend?_ That sounds suspicious."

"I've got a boyfriend, Daddy, is that what you want to hear? I was with him all day."

"Ha ha, very funny, Gwen."

"Dad, I'm serious. I met someone."

"You did?" he asks weakly.

"Yes," she answers, glancing over at Arthur, who is removing his boots and looking rather smug about himself.

"Name?" he asks.

She sighs, hearing him pull out a pad of paper and a pencil. "So you're doing this now?"

"First thing tomorrow morning. Name."

"Arthur Pendragon." Arthur looks at her, and she mouths _I told you so,_ to him, and he laughs quietly.

"That name is familiar… He's not Uther Pendragon's disowned son, is he?"

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I didn't make DI by being oblivious, child. And that man is in the news all the time. So it is him, then."

"Dad, I can hear the judgment in your voice. And I don't like it at all," she says, immediately going on the defensive.

"Well, if his own father doesn't even approve of him, how can you expect me to?"

"Ooh," she fumes. "You're really ignorant sometimes. You know nothing about him or his father, and you've already made your mind up! You have no idea what the reasons his father has for disowning him are!"

"And you do?"

"Yes, I do. And they are childish, selfish, and ridiculous reasons that have nothing at all to do with his character as a person. So until you know the entire truth and, oh, perhaps deign to meet the gentleman, I'll thank you to keep an open mind!"

Arthur stares. He can't hear Gwen's father, but he has a pretty good idea what he's saying. _She's defending me. To her own father. And she's not backing down._

"Gwen…"

"Promise me or I am hanging up right now." She waits. "Dad?"

"I promise," he finally relents. She knows he's still going to have his opinions, but at least he'll keep them to himself. At least for a while.

"You always tell me how much you trust me, but actions speak louder than words, Dad."

"I do trust you, Gwennie."

"But you don't trust him."

"No."

"Go ahead and do all the background checks you want on him. His record is clean."

"How do you know that?"

"He told me. I warned him that you'd check him out."

"Well, I suppose the fact that it didn't scare him away is _something,_ " he allows.

"Hold on," Gwen says. She turns to Arthur. "What's your middle name?"

"David."

"Dad? His middle name is David, if that will help you with your inquiries," she says, smirking at Arthur, who laughs again.

"Is… is he _there_ right now? I thought I heard a man's voice when you put me on hold."

"Yes."

"Oh, God," he groans, "so he probably heard everything, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Great…"

"Hey, you made that bed, old man," she says lightly.

"Yes, yes. I'll let you know what I find out tomorrow."

"You won't find anything," she says. "Will he?" she asks Arthur, but it is more of a confirmation than a question.

"Nope," Arthur answers, speaking loudly enough for her father to hear.

"Okay, Gwen, I'll let you get back to your… guest. Now that I know you're alive and unharmed."

"Thanks, Dad. Love you."

"Love you, too."

She hangs up the phone and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Well, that was fun," she says sarcastically, slumping onto the couch and removing her shoes.

"You were brilliant, Sweet," he says, sitting beside her and pulling her feet up into his lap. "Thank you for defending me."

"You're welcome. Unfortunately my father suffers from the same condition most fathers have. You know, the one where no man is good enough for his little girl?"

"Ah, I've heard of that. No cure, I'm afraid. But as I said before, if you were my daughter, I'd be the same way. Probably lock you away in a tower somewhere," he jokes, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on the bottom of her foot.

"How medieval of you," she says, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a moment while he amuses himself with her feet.

Not surprisingly, it doesn't take long for her toes to end up in his mouth, and she chuckles, resigned to her fate.

 _It does feel really good,_ she thinks, eyes still closed. _I'll have to make sure to take good care of them for him._

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks, slowly opening her eyes to look at him through hooded lids.

"Immensely," he says, pressing his lips to the sole of her foot, and she presses her other foot against his groin, finding him already growing hard.

"So I see," she smirks at him, moving her foot in his lap, making him groan.

"Oh, keep doing that," he says, closing his eyes.

She moves her foot slowly, and he turns toward her to allow her easier access to him. He sets down the foot he is holding and picks up the other, switching them.

"Have to give equal time, you know," he mutters while she giggles.

"Good, my leg was getting tired."

He laughs, but then she presses and rubs again, stopping his laughter and replacing it with a gasp, sucking air in between his teeth.

"Hold on," he says, releasing her foot for a second and he drops his hands to his jeans, unfastening them and pulling them down slightly. He takes her foot and places it on his bare member. "Yes, that's better," he moans, picking up her other foot once more.

 _Okay, we're doing this again,_ Gwen thinks, but he is enjoying himself so much that she can't help but indulge him, sliding her foot on him again.

"Guinevere…" he breathes her name, pressing her foot to his chest, holding it against him. "I… I think you need to stop…"

"Oh?" she asks, not stopping. She gives him a devilish smile and his eyes widen.

He takes the foot from his chest and, studying her, carefully watching her reaction, slides it down to join the other, placing both of her feet against him, trapping his manhood between them.

She holds his gaze, silently giving consent as he shows her what to do, how to stroke him between the soles of her small soft feet.

 _Mother of God, she's okay with it,_ he thinks, and lets his head fall back, yanking at his shirt, pulling it up, working it over his head.

Guinevere scoots closer, getting a little tired. _This is so strange,_ she can't help but think as she continues running her feet up and down his shaft, watching him slowly lose his mind as he comes closer and closer. _I do like watching him. His muscles straining, the emotions plain on his beautiful face, the hypnotic motion of her feet on his beautiful shaft…_

 _It is beautiful,_ she notes with a little amusement, having never before putting that particular adjective with that particular piece of anatomy.

Her reverie is interrupted as Arthur groans loudly and takes her ankles in his hands, helping her move, faster and harder, until he comes with another loud groan, spilling onto his chest.

Gwen's feet relax against his thighs and they are both breathing heavily. Arthur reaches over, groping for a box of tissues on an end table so that he can clean himself up. He carefully inspects her feet, gently wiping a few places that got wet.

"Um…" he starts, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. _I hope I didn't push her too far._

"Yes?" she asks as he readjusts his jeans, pulling them back up. "It's all right, Arthur. I'm not put off," she says, guessing. To prove her point, she climbs to the other end of the sofa and into his lap, leaning up to kiss him.

"You're not? Really?" He sounds unsure.

"Well, it was… _different._ But you were so clearly enjoying yourself so much that it was kind of… fun. I… liked watching you," she admits.

He stares.

"Now, I'm not saying I'll be up for that all the time, of course. It's quite a workout for me, you realize," she laughs lightly.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, nuzzling her hair.

"Why suddenly so unsure of yourself?" she asks, reaching her hand up to stroke his cheek.

"Because I realized that I just had you do something that I actually have a rule about."

"What?" she turns and looks at him, confused.

"No foot-jobs until at least a month into a relationship," he says, quite seriously.

Gwen laughs, though, unable to help herself. "A 'foot-job?' Is that what I just did?"

He nods. "What's so funny, anyway?"

"I don't know, that sentence, and how seriously you said it. It just made me laugh. I honestly have never had the kinds of conversations I have with you with anyone else," she smiles. "I mean that in a good way."

"You are unbelievable," he says, gazing down at her. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

"So why the rule?"

"Ah. I discovered quite early on and quite unpleasantly, I might add, that it can be a deal-breaker. Just a _little_ too odd, I guess," he shrugs.

"Well, I haven't tossed you out on your bum, Arthur, so relax," she says, leaning over to kiss him again.

"And I do appreciate that," he says, kissing her now, his hands roving around the exposed skin of her waist. "And I will make it up to you. I do believe I owe you an 'O' now," he grins.

She laughs again, letting her head fall onto his shoulder. "Are you keeping score?"

"Well, if I am, I believe you're one up on me already anyway, because if memory serves, you got an extra one yesterday, over there—" he points to the kitchen, "—on the floor."

"Wrong. I was in the chair."

Arthur laughs now, squeezing her. "You are correct, of course." He nibbles her ear a bit. "So: Fair's fair. Do _you_ have any kinks you wish me to indulge in with you?"

 _Do I? I don't know._ "Um, I don't know, honestly," she says, thinking.

"Aw, come on, don't make me be the freak in the relationship," he says, then realizing the ridiculous nature of his statement, he starts laughing again.

"Right, like that's even a competition," Gwen says amidst her own laughter, reaching up to toy with his still-askew Mohawk.

"Well, if you think of something," Arthur gets back to the point, recovering and nuzzling her neck, "do let me know."

"You will be the first to know, I promise. I will admit, you've got me thinking now," she says thoughtfully.

"Intriguing," he says, now sliding his hands along the smooth skin of her thighs. He looks down at her and kisses her nose. "I like your freckles," he says suddenly.

"Oh, God, I hate them," she says, bringing a hand up to cover her nose.

"Why?" he asks, gently removing her hand and placing more kisses on the freckles dotting her cheekbones.

"Why else? I used to get teased when I was a girl."

"Ignorant, foolish children," he says quietly, punctuating his statement with more kisses.

"I know. They just made me insecure about them."

"If they knew how beautiful you'd grow up to be, I'm sure they'd happily eat those words," he says, traveling to her neck now.

"They are unusual, you have to admit."

"That's why I like them."

"You are so strange."

"Yep," he agrees, tracing the line of her collarbone with his tongue, and she sighs contentedly.

xXx

The harsh bell of the alarm clock jerks Guinevere awake, confused. She reaches over and slams the top of it, silencing it, and turns back into the warm pair of arms that have been holding her close all night.

_Stupid clock. Usually I wake up before it goes off. Of course, usually I'm not up half the night engaging in carnal pleasures with an irresistibly handsome and wonderful man._

She leans her head forward, kisses his chest, and attempts to get out of bed.

"No," Arthur's sleepy voice protests, his arms tightening.

"Arthur, darling, I have to go to work. And I presume you do as well."

"Probably should do. I'm just too cozy," he says, holding her tight again, "and you're too warm and delectable."

"And I stink and need to shower. Let go."

"You smell good to me," he says, but he releases her.

"Well, we've already established that you're strange, so that doesn't surprise me."

"Can I join you?" he asks, sitting up.

"No," she says as she walks out. "You'll be too distracting."

Gwen lets the hot water run down her body, and her mind drifts back to last night and Arthur's hands and lips running down her body.

 _I swear he kissed every inch of me,_ she recalls, and suddenly the shower is much too warm as she remembers his lips on her skin, his hands caressing and gentle, his tongue driving her insane with pleasure while she writhed on the bed, gasping his name and begging for more.

She washes automatically, her mind still distracted, busy thinking about him. _Arthur. He's amazing. Special. Yes, the sex is phenomenal, but is it because he's just really good at it, or is it because I really like_ him _and that's what makes it so mind-blowing?_

_I couldn't be in love with him, could I? I've known him two days._

_Could I?_

_No. No. I am careful. Notoriously slow._

_Yeah, right, says the girl who tumbled into bed with him the same morning she met him._

_No. I'm not thinking about this right now. Besides, I don't know how he feels. If he loves me._

_Stop it._

_Two days only._

_But he wanted a committed relationship after only one._

_Shut. Up._

Gwen sticks her head under the shower, rinsing her body and hopefully, her brain, willing her confused thoughts down the drain with the soap.

_I do have a job to get to today. Don't want to be distracted._

_Of course, it's not like I'm performing brain surgery or attempting to split an atom._

_Just enjoy being with him for now. Don't over-analyze it. Yes. That's it._

She towels off, slips her dressing gown on, and pads back to the bedroom to find Arthur sitting up and thumbing through a book.

"All yours, if you would like to shower," she says casually, dutifully ignoring the way the muscles of his chest look in the morning sunlight.

"This is total pornography," he says, indicating the book. It's one of the trashy romance novels she can't stay away from.

"I know, it's ridiculous."

He drops the book to the floor, and sits up. "You locked the door, you naughty thing."

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist," she says, ducking her head to remove the towel she has wrapped around it.

"I had to pee."

"Had?" she peeks at him, a little worried.

"Yeah, but since the door was locked, I just used the kitchen sink."

She stares. "Um…"

He bursts out laughing. "Guinevere, I'm joking! I wouldn't do that," he says, swinging out of the bed, naked and unconcerned. "Not in your house, anyway," he cryptically mutters as he walks past.

"Arthur!"

"Still joking, yes," he says as he bends to kiss her cheek and squeeze her rear as he passes her on the way to the bathroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur stops his motorcycle outside Gwen's office and he helps her off of the back of it. He takes another minute to appreciate her in her conservative workplace attire, smiling at her.

"See you later?" he asks.

"Of course. You have my number?" she asks. He nods and pats his pocket with the slip of paper she's written it on.

"Come here, you," he rumbles, pulling her into his arms.

"Just quickly, people are going to start arriving soon," she giggles.

"Embarrassed to be seen with me?" he arches an eyebrow at her.

"No, of course not," she kisses him. "But these are my coworkers, they don't need to see me snogging someone outside the office. Regardless of what kind of hairstyle he has," she says, reaching up to skim her hand along the top of his Mohawk.

"Stuffy corporate types," he mutters, grinning as he bends down for one more lingering kiss.

He gently pulls back, eyes closed, savoring the memory of her lips on his for a moment. "There. That should get me through the day," he says, opening his eyes to see her smiling that smile for him.

"See you later," she says, placing her hand on his chest before turning away to walk inside. She turns back just outside the door to give him one last wave.

She disappears inside and he stands there for another minute, staring at the door.

_God help me, I love her._

xXx

"Good morning, Ron," Gwen says to the semi-retired older gentleman that runs the mailroom in the mornings.

"Gwen, you're here early. Taken up jogging?" he teases.

"Actually, I got a ride today," she says, checking that her braid is still in place over her shoulder. The mark is not as prominent, but it is definitely still there.

"Mmm," he says noncommittally. "What can I do for you this morning, dear?"

"I was wondering something, actually."

"Yes?"

"When we get unsolicited manuscripts, do you _really_ chuck them in the bin, or do you keep any?"

"My instructions are to throw them away," he says dutifully.

"Ron."

"Okay, because it's you. I do keep some. I've even read some. Most are horrible."

"Did you ever get anything from someone called Merlin?"

"Is that a first name or a surname?"

"First name. I don't know his surname." _Should have asked Arthur._

"Merlin, Merlin," he repeats, turning to a file cabinet in the corner.

"But how many people called Merlin can there be out there, honestly?" she asks, chuckling.

Ron sticks a key into the cabinet and opens the bottom drawer, easing his old bones onto a stool as he does so. Gwen steps forward and watches as he rifles through the drawer.

 _There are hundreds of envelopes in there,_ she notes.

"It would be easier if we had a name. I've got these alphabetical, you know," he mutters, then suddenly, "Ah! Merlin Emrys. Good thing it was early in the alphabet."

"May I borrow that?" she asks.

He holds it to his chest a moment. "Will you tell me why? Is he your boyfriend?"

"Friend, actually. I met him this weekend. Wonderful bloke, really. He doesn't know I'm doing this, either."

"Just a friend, eh?" he says skeptically.

"Yes." She sighs and adds, "He's actually my boyfriend's best friend, if you must be a nosy old lady. Now hand it over, old lady." She holds out her hand and smirks at him.

"Oho, I didn't know you even had a boyfriend," he exclaims, surrendering the manuscript. "I guess I missed my chance, then," he says, winking at her.

"Don't give up hope, Ron," she laughs, tucking the envelope into the larger shoulder bag she's brought today, just in case. "And thanks."

"Well, tell boyfriend that I'll be the second in line behind your dad to administer poundings if he's not good to you," he nods.

"Duly noted," she says, smiling and glancing at the clock. "Bugger. Gotta go. Thanks again," she calls, scooting out the door.

Shortly after lunch, Gwen pulls out a phone book and looks up the address of Excalibur Tattoos. She makes a note of the address and slips the note into her bag.

"Gwen," Mr. Gaius pages her. She jumps, startled. _I wasn't doing anything wrong, why am I all skittish?_

She presses the button on the intercom. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to take a letter. Can you come in, please?"

"Of course. I'll grab my pad."

xXx

"So you are alive, then," Gwaine drawls from the back of the shop when Arthur comes in, clutching a bag of sweets he's picked up on the way.

"My friend, I feel fantastic," Arthur declares, unwrapping a Mars bar.

"Who is she?" Phyllis, Gwaine's sister and another tattoo artist, demands from her workstation.

"What makes you think it's a woman, Phil?" Gwaine asks, sauntering toward his chair, a cup of tea in his hand.

"Fair enough. Who is _he,_ then?"

" _She_ is the most amazing girl I have ever met," Arthur says, ignoring her remark. "Present company excepted, of course, darling," he nods at Phil, who makes a rude hand gesture back at him.

"See? Charming, you are," he says, blowing her a kiss before going back to get his own tea.

Merlin comes bounding into the shop, chipper as always. "Morning lads, Phil," he calls cheerily.

"Honestly Merlin, your early-morning cheerfulness is both disgusting and unwelcome. This is a place of… surliness," Gwaine grumbles, his point blasted away by Arthur's cheerful whistling. "Drag! You're killing the ambience! You and Merlin can both go pick daisies and skip through a meadow somewhere if you're going to be so bloody _happy_ at this ungodly hour!"

"Gwaine, it's 9:30," Merlin laughs and heads back to where Arthur is pouring far too much sugar into his tea.

"My point exactly."

"Why don't you just drink marmalade, Drag?" Merlin asks, looking at Arthur's tea with disgust.

"Too thick. And the chunks of peel just don't go down easy."

Merlin chuckles and makes himself a cup and quietly says, "So? How'd it go yesterday?"

"Merlin, she is incredible. Just incredible. And she sat for me."

"I thought you were already working on one of her?"

"I am. But another opportunity presented itself."

"She wasn't naked, was she?"

Arthur pauses. " _Technically_ she was. But the only thing exposed was her back."

"Right."

"Honest, mate. And she was so good at it. Sitting. Didn't complain, didn't move, asked before scratching her nose. Fantastic. Oh, and get this: Iggy loves her. Like, _loves._ "

"Really?"

"He purred."

"No!"

Arthur nods. "Like a little motorcycle. It was very disturbing," he says, furrowing his brow.

Merlin laughs. "That's good. You seeing her tonight?"

"Planning to do. Oh, and Morgana called yesterday. She's coming to town."

"What? Morgana? She's coming down?" Gwaine asks, suddenly interested.

"And if you're lucky, she'll also be _going_ down," Phil dryly remarks, peering into a mirror and applying a dark merlot-colored lipstick that perfectly matches her tousled dyed hair.

"Okay, first: gross.” Arthur looks towards Phil, then continues. "Second: yes, she's coming to town, and Guinevere and I are going to have dinner with her. Some night. I don't know which day yet."

There is a chorus of "Oooo…" from the others at the prospect of Gwen meeting Morgana so soon.

"Shut it, you lot. It'll be fine. She already likes Gwen 'cause she jammed her knee into Helios' bollocks, so that's a step in the right direction."

"Well, she would, wouldn't she? She did date our Gavin for a while, poor misled darling," Gwaine says, feigning sympathy.

"So you really like her, Drag?" Merlin quietly asks, turning back to Arthur.

He nods, and Merlin sees something in his eyes, in his expression that makes him a little worried.

"Don't screw it up, then."

xXx

Guinevere checks the address on the scrap of paper she is holding. _This is the street,_ she thinks with a sigh, looking down the block. There is trash on the sidewalk, the buildings are run down, many abandoned, and the few people about look quite shabby. _Arthur did say that it was a total crap neighborhood._

Gathering her courage, she heads down the sidewalk, walking briskly, confidently, not giving away her discomfort. As she stares straight ahead, suddenly a large man appears and starts jogging towards her.

_Ox, thank God._

He catches her up, and gives her a boyish grin, not even breathing heavily from the run. "My lady?" he asks, offering his elbow.

"Thank you, kind sir," she grins back at him, winding her hand around his massive arm. _My hand looks like that of a child,_ she notes, chuckling.

"What's funny?"

"How little my hand looks compared to your arm," she says, nodding towards his elbow.

He looks down. "Ah. Indeed it does."

"Thank you for coming down to meet me. To tell you the truth, I was a little uncomfortable."

"My pleasure. Wasn't doing anything at the moment anyway," he smiles. "I do a lot of that: doing nothing."

"I thought you were the bouncer," she says.

"I am. But when people behave, I have very little to do. And during the day, they tend to behave. Not that I _enjoy_ busting heads, mind, but it's something to do."

"Of course."

They walk a little ways in silence, and Gwen gets the distinct impression that he wants to ask her something.

"Gwen, can I ask…?" he starts, then changes boats mid-stream. "No, I couldn't. We haven't known each other long enough for me to ask a favor. Never mind."

"Ox, what is on your mind?"

"It's nothing, really."

"Do you want me to set you up with someone?" she tries, searching for what might be likely. _Freya might like him,_ she thinks. _He's cute and nice and not too punky._

"No!" he exclaims, then calmer, "No, that's all right, that wasn't it. I… um, Drag mentioned that your Dad is a DI…"

"Yes? You're not in any sort of trouble, are you?" Now she is concerned.

"No, not at all. It's just… I put in an application at Scotland Yard two weeks ago and I haven't heard anything back."

"You want me to call my father and see what he can find out, is that it?"

"Only if it's not any trouble. I don't want to inconvenience anyone."

"Ox," she says, stopping and looking up at him. "Sometimes the only way to get what you want is to inconvenience some people." She smiles at him, and he cannot help but smile back. "If it's worth it, they'll find that they don't mind in the end. And I think it's worth it. You'll make an excellent policeman."

"You think so? It's all I've ever wanted to be since I was a small boy. Well, I was never _very_ small," he chuckles.

She laughs and takes his arm again and they resume walking. "I'll call my father as soon as I get home. His name is Thomas Degrance, by the way. In case you need it."

"Thank you so much, Gwen, you have no idea how much this means to me!" he says, suddenly picking her up in a great bear hug.

"Ox! I haven't done anything yet!" she laughs, hugging his thick neck anyway.

He puts her down, sheepish now, and says, "Well, we're here. This is The Dragon's Head, and just there," he nods to the next storefront over, "is Excalibur. Drag's still in there."

"Thanks again," she says, giving his arm a squeeze.

"Wait, I have an idea," he says, stepping in front of her. "Stay behind me."

"Um, okay."

She follows him into the tattoo shop and her ears are immediately assaulted by the harsh mechanical buzz of the tattoo guns as people are having artwork applied permanently to their skin.

 _I didn't realize it was so loud,_ she thinks.

"Oi! Drag!" Percival calls. Gwen's hands are resting on Ox's back, hiding behind him. "Got a delivery for you."

One of the buzzing appliances stops, and Gwen hears Arthur's voice.

"Delivery? I didn't order anything."

Gwen peeks out from behind Ox and waves at him.

"It's a Sparrow!" Gwaine declares, grinning that grin of his while Gwen and Ox laugh.

"Guinevere," Arthur says, his face lighting up. "Excuse me a moment, Steve," he says to the man in his chair, a tiger nearly finished on his thick forearm.

"I'd leave me, too, if I was you," Steve answers, taking Gwen in as she comes into full view from behind Ox.

Guinevere looks at Gwaine. "Sparrow?" she repeats.

"Yeah, I thought it fitting, seeing as how you're—"

"A small brown bird, yes, I get it," she says, laughing as he lifts her hand to his lips to kiss it.

Arthur walks up to her and leans down to kiss her, but does not touch her. He is wearing gloves, the kind a surgeon would wear. Gwen puts her hands on either side of his face as he kisses her. _I can touch him even if he can't touch me right now._

"Sorry. Gloves. Don't need to be spreading anything around, you know," he says, smiling warmly down at her.

"Understood. Can I come watch?"

"Okay with you, Steve?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, appreciating the view as Gwen walks over in a pink wrap-around dress that highlights her curves and accentuates her narrow waist.

Arthur sits and looks at his client. "No funny business or I'll turn this tiger into a fluffy tabby cat, understand? She's my girl, and I don't share."

"Uh, right," Steve says, lifting his eyes from where they were resting, which was the general area of Gwen's bosom.

"Here, you can sit," Arthur pulls a stool over for Gwen.

"Thanks." She sits and watches while Arthur finishes the work.

She watches, fascinated, having never seen this before.

"I guess I didn't realize that there would be blood," she comments, adjusting slightly, feeling Steve's eyes on her again. She unconsciously pulls at the neckline of her dress.

"Well, I am jabbing him in the arm with a needle over and over and over again. Of course there's blood," Arthur comments.

She leans in closer.

"You're in my light, Sweet."

"Sorry," she says, leaning back.

"Steve, eyes back in your head."

"I wasn't doin' nothin'."

"That's right, you weren't."

She watches quietly, ignoring Steve. _That tiger is really good._

"It's like a sewing machine," Gwen says suddenly.

"What?" Arthur stops and looks at her.

"That contraption there. It's like a sewing machine. With no thread."

"Well, having no experience at all with sewing machines, I guess I'll take your word for it," he tells her, smiling at her before he returns his attention to his work again.

"So where did you come from, anyway?" Steve suddenly asks her.

"Um, I live here in London," she answers, puzzled.

Arthur shoots him a warning look and Steve decides not to ask any more questions.

"Almost done," Arthur says impatiently.

"Does it hurt?" Gwen asks.

"Nah," Steve answers, but she sees him gripping the arm of the chair with his other hand.

"It really depends on where it's being stuck and what your tolerance for pain is," Arthur answers. "Some people enjoy it. They say the pain is a rush, like a drug," he shrugs. "I don't get that myself. Weirdos."

Gwen's tiny snort doesn't miss him and he glances at her, daring her to make a comment.

"There. Done," Arthur declares, dabbing the area one more time before spreading a clear ointment over it. He unrolls a large piece of gauze and wraps the man's arm, bandaging it expertly and carefully.

Steve pays for the work, and his wandering eyes have tested Arthur's patience for the last time.

"All right, Steve, piss off," he says, shoving him out the door.

"Arthur," Gwen says reproachfully.

"I didn't like the way he kept looking at you."

"Here we go…" Gwaine comments.

"He was just looking, it wasn't like he was going in for a grope."

"Don't even try, Sparrow," Gwaine says. "Hey, I think your dad came past today," he says, deciding to change the subject. Arthur stomps back to his station and starts cleaning up.

"What?"

"I was outside having a smoke, and a cop drove past and told me to push off. Which was strange because the bobbies don't patrol 'round here normally. I politely explained that this beautiful establishment was my place of business, and I was not loitering."

Gwen nods, listening. _Now I'll have two things to talk to my father about._

"Then he asked me my name, and asked if Drag worked here. Called him Arthur, even. It was then I started putting the pieces together, 'cause Drag said that your da was a cop. And this one kind of looked like you, if you was a big bloke. Same skin tone, same eyes. Your last name De… De-something?"

"Yes, that was my dad," she sighs. "He called last night and I had to give all the information, because he's got to check, you know."

Gwaine nods, "Of course he does. Oh, and before she kills me, Gwen, this is my sister Phyllis," he points out Phil, who has been looking daggers at him.

"Oh!" Gwen turns, "Hi, I'm Gwen," she walks over and offers her hand.

"Phil," she says, grasping it quickly. "Nice hickey," she comments.

Gwen grabs her braid and puts it back where it belongs, blushing. Phil chuckles. "Hey, wear it proudly, girlie. Besides, ain't no one going to judge you here. In fact, they'll probably think better of you. I know I do."

Gwen puzzles at the strange woman. _I can't get a read on this one. She's so different from Gwaine._ "Um, thanks?" she says, wincing inwardly when it comes out as a question. "I love your hair, by the way. I sometimes wish mine was straight."

"Always want what we don't have," she says, nodding and turning back to finish cleaning up.

"She's really okay, just a little hard to get to know," Gwaine says quietly.

"I think she's nice, actually."

"Guinevere, should we go next door? Have Leon buy us some dinner?" Arthur asks, strolling over. He isn't wearing his gloves anymore, so the first thing he does when she is within reach is grab her and pull her close, running his hands up her back.

"I'd love to see the pub, yes. Is Merlin there?" she asks, kissing him.

"Yeah. Did you find anything?" he asks quietly as they walk out.

"Goodbye, you two," Gwaine sings after them.

"I got the manuscript, yes. It's in my bag," she tells them and they walk out the door.

"He is completely in love with her," Phil says to Gwaine once they are gone.

"Yep."

xXx

They walk next door to the pub. It is dark inside, but clean, Gwen notes, looking around, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. As she blinks a few times, she notes that the dozen or so patrons scattered about the place have all stopped their conversations to stare at her.

Arthur puts his arm around her possessively, shoots them all an icy glare – _hands off, she's mine_ – and ushers her to the bar.

"Gwen!" Merlin smiles as they sit. He sets a pint down in front of Arthur. "What would you like?" he asks her.

"Guinness, if you've got it," she answers, surprising them both. "What?" she asks Arthur. "Did you think I was going to have water? Perhaps a nice glass of milk?"

"Oh. Um, I guess I didn't even think about it," Arthur says, smiling as Merlin sets down a perfectly-tapped pint in front of her.

"I didn't think you lads would do the kinds of drinks with the little brollies perched in them, so I thought I'd keep it simple," she says, picking up her glass.

"So, what do you think of our little establishment here?" Merlin asks, picking up an empty glass left by another patron.

"It's… clean," she says, smiling. She looks around, surveys the people sitting at tables, throwing darts. She notes that her pink dress is almost the only spot of color in the place. Everyone is wearing black, grey, or white. The lone exception is Ox's t-shirt (with no sleeves, of course), which is black but bears a large printed Union Jack on the front. "I kind of look out of place, don't I?" she asks.

"You look beautiful," Arthur says, "but yeah. You do stand out a bit."

"Don't think I didn't notice you going all Alpha Male when we came in here, Arthur," she says, leaning in close.

Merlin hears her anyway, and laughs. "Drag's a bit protective," he says, choosing his words carefully.

"I noticed," she says, taking another drink.

They chat for a bit, Gwen keeping her shoulder bag out of sight so Merlin doesn't see his manuscript tucked inside. Arthur tells them about the tattoos he did that day, Merlin tells them that Ox actually got to throw someone out at 2:30 in the afternoon, Gwen tells them about a phone call she received from an irate author claiming their editors had "butchered" his vision.

"From what I understand, our editors did the man a favor," she says. "Just because a person has written one successful novel doesn't always mean there's fuel in the tank for another masterpiece."

"Hmm," Merlin says noncommittally and looks away.

She takes another drink, feeling a little guilty about inadvertently pointing out Merlin's lack of success at getting published. "Please tell me you have a ladies' loo," she says to him, suddenly wanting to escape for a minute.

"Yeah, it's over there," he points. "Let me know if it's disgusting," he calls after her, and she waves.

"She didn't mean to upset you, Merlin," Arthur says after she's gone.

"I know. It's just hard, hearing things like that, how some hack that got lucky once gets the chances and I sit here wiping glasses after a bunch of slobs."

"Hey, you never know, mate. You could be a hack, too," he teases with a grin. Merlin flicks his towel at him, which Arthur dodges easily.

"Piss off, Cabbage Head."

Arthur chuckles and takes a drink of his pint. "Well, hello, stranger," a voice behind him coos, and he groans inwardly.

"Portia," he says coolly.

"Haven't seen you about in a few days. I hope you haven't been ill," she says, sitting on Gwen's stool, choosing to ignore her glass resting there and her bag on the floor, leaning against the bar.

"Never felt better," he says, not looking at her, trying to figure his way out of this politely. _The girl is unbalanced,_ he notes, glancing over at her, his stomach turning as her side blue eyes drink him in.

"Mmm, so I see," she says, placing her hand on his thigh. He brushes it off.

"Portia, someone is sitting there," Merlin tries to help.

"Yes, I know. Me."

"No, I believe you are mistaken," Gwen says, having returned. She saw the little blonde twat put her hand on Arthur's thigh as she was walking back, and is now standing beside her with her hands on her hips.

"No, I don't believe I am, Susie Corporation. Push off."

Gwen leans in closer. "Listen you cow, Drag is _my_ man, and if you touch him like that again I will see to it that you can't properly use your hand for at least two weeks."

Portia makes a derisive snort. "You? Aren't you afraid you'd break a nail?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't even break a sweat. In fact, the only things broken would be your fingers. Now get your fat arse out of my seat."

Portia stands. She is at least four inches taller than Guinevere, but Gwen stares her down nevertheless. "Fine, bitch. I'll bet he's got a small pecker anyway," Portia finally spits, stomping away.

Gwen calmly sits down and takes a drink, perfectly composed and ladylike. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ox returning to his post by the door. _I didn't even realize he had started to come over._

"That was _so_ hot," Arthur says, staring at her. Merlin laughs.

"Hmm?" Gwen turns and looks at him.

"You. Um, defending your territory like that, like a little lioness. Hot."

"You're not the only one with a jealous streak," she says lightly, lifting her hand to caress his cheek. He leans down and kisses her, quick but hungry.

"Oh!" she gasps after their lips part.

"She's been after me for weeks, you know," he says. "Mental, her. I keep turning her down as plainly as I can, but she kept persisting."

"I think she'll leave you alone now, mate," Merlin says. "Would you really have broken her fingers?" he asks Gwen.

"I have no idea," she says. "I was bluffing."


	11. Chapter 11

"Gwen, nice to see you," Leon says, leaning down and pecking her cheek, giving Arthur's potential jealousy no consideration at all. He's just come back down to the pub from his flat above, to be there for the evening.

"Hello, Leon, how are you? Lovely place you have here," she grins at him before peeking at Arthur, who appears unconcerned by his friend's show of friendly affection.

"Tired. Tried to catch a nap, but it wasn't happening," he says, stretching his neck. "Going to be a long night," he says, looking at Merlin.

"Brain or legs?" Merlin asks.

"Brain," he says, then turns back to Arthur and Gwen. "You lot need some food? I think I've got enough stuff back there to make a decent bubble and squeak."

"Thought you'd never ask, mate," Arthur says. "Okay with you, Sweet?"

She nods, "Thank you, that would be lovely."

Leon heads back behind the bar and into the kitchen, and Gwen looks at Arthur. "What was Merlin talking about, 'Brain or legs?'"

"Leon doesn't sleep much. Either his brain won't wind down and shut up or his legs get all wonky. He says it feels like he needs to move them. I don't quite understand it. It's very strange."

"Poor thing," she says. Then she tilts her head to the side. "So. That man, Steve. He wasn't allowed to look at me. You glared down the entire pub when we came in. Yet Ox escorted me in, Gwaine kissed my hand and Leon just kissed my cheek and you didn't so much as blink."

"Yes. 'Cause I know they know better. It's the random wankers I have to watch out for, you know."

Gwen sighs. _Clearly, he has trust issues. Not that I blame him, considering the stress with his father._ "You don't have anything to worry about, Arthur," she says, taking his hand. "I said I was yours."

"Yes," he leans over and kisses her, "you are."

"Ugh, this isn't _that_ kind of establishment, you two," Merlin says, putting a fresh pint down in front of Arthur. "Gwen?"

"I will have water this time, Merlin, thanks," she says.

"Excuse me a moment," Arthur says, standing. "Merlin," he adds, nodding pointedly at his friend before he walks off to the bathroom.

"What was that?"

"He wants me to look after you while he's having a piss," Merlin comments.

"He doesn't trust people, does he?" Gwen asks, leaning over the bar to talk privately to him.

Merlin leans over. "Not really. He can be overprotective. So now you've been warned."

She chuckles. "I noticed that."

Merlin doesn't laugh. "It's more than that, though. His relationship with his father…"

"Yes, I know about it. Or the lack of it."

"Well, it goes back further than just Uni. Uther was never… affectionate to him. Rarely gave him praise, never expressed any love for him. So…" Merlin looks toward the bathroom before continuing, "Arthur needs affection. Not wants. _Needs._ " He sighs. "God, he'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this. But he craves it the way a junkie craves a hit. He puts on a tough face, but deep down he's looking for the love he never got from his parents. Morgana and I try, but it's not the same, you know? And so when he finds someone special to him, which I suspect you are, he gets—" Merlin leans back, casually, not finishing his sentence, and Gwen understands. _Arthur's coming back._

"What were you two ladies gossiping about?" Arthur asks as he sits. "Don't play coy, I saw you with your heads together just now."

"Portia," Gwen says, blurting the first thing that came to mind.

"Yeah, I was telling her about the time she showed up at your flat wearing a mac with nothing else except spike-heeled boots and how you set Iggy on her to get her to leave."

"I knew I liked that cat," Gwen smiles.

"Boots," Arthur scoffs. "I hate it when women wear boots."

Gwen laughs at this just as Leon comes out with some plates. He puts them down in front of Arthur and Gwen. "Enjoy."

"Hey, where's mine?" Merlin asks.

"It's coming, cool it," Leon says. "Only two hands, mate."

xXx

"Um," Gwen says, outside her flat. _How do I tell him that while I really want him to stay over again, I kind of don't?_

"Would you mind terribly if I went home, Guinevere? I really want to do some painting, and I think you'd be too distracting if you came over." He has his arms around her, and she is standing on the bottom step to even out their height difference some.

"That's completely fine, Arthur. I actually need to call my father and give him hell about his little drive-by this afternoon, and I want to start reading Merlin's manuscript."

He chuckles. "I'm going to turn the drawing I did of you yesterday into a painting. And I've got the other one to work on, too."

"What do you do with all these paintings and drawings?"

"Right now they're in a closet," he frowns.

"That's too bad," she says, finger running along his jaw. "They should be seen."

"I'm glad you think so. But it's not easy."

"I know," she says, sighing.

"All right, I'd better go," he says, but he doesn't move.

"I need a kiss first," she tells him, leaning forward.

"Just one?" he asks softly, just before his lips press hers softly, his tongue coming forth to explore almost immediately.

She winds her arms around his neck as he splays his hands across her narrow back, pulling her in close.

Arthur starts kissing his way down her neck, unable to help himself.

"Arthur, we're outside," she reminds him, gently moving his face back up to hers.

"Sorry. Forgot," he mutters against her lips, sucking her full bottom lip in between his momentarily.

Gwen sighs and begins to change her mind about having him in. _Maybe just for a little while… No. We both know how that would end up._

He kisses her one more time, pulling back and saying, "There. Your neighbors should have something to talk about now."

She laughs and shoves his shoulder lightly. "Go home."

"One more," he says, and gives her one last kiss. She hugs him tightly, and pecks his lips.

"Call me later, when you need a break from painting," she calls after him as he mounts his motorcycle, which actually takes on the first try.

"Let your dad have it," he yells over the roar of the engine and she smiles and waves at him before going in. She leans against the inside of the door, listening to the sound of his bike retreating.

She heaves a sigh, kicks her little tan pumps off and flops onto the couch for a moment. _Shouldn't have sat down. Should have changed clothes first. Ugh._

Gwen goes to her room and puts on her pajamas, nothing more than a nightie that ends just above her knees, perfect for warm summer nights. Pulling Merlin's manuscript out of her bag, she sits down and reaches for the phone.

"Hello?" her father's voice answers on the second ring.

"You have some explaining to do," she says.

"I don't have to explain anything. I was on patrol," he says, not even bothering to make an excuse.

"Dad, you don't patrol any more."

"I told you I was going to be checking on this boyfriend of yours."

"Spill."

He sighs, sounding almost disappointed. "He's clean."

"I _told_ you. What did you find out, though? I am curious."

She hears him ruffling through some things, looking for his notepad. "Arthur David Pendragon, known to his friends as 'Drag,' aged 24 years. Father Uther Pendragon, aged 53 years; mother Ygraine Pendragon, deceased. Twin sister Morgana Rose of Glasgow."

"I know all that already."

"What kind of a name is Ygraine, anyway? And Uther, for that matter? I've always wondered."

"You know the rich and powerful set, Dad. Family names, most likely. Probably reach back to medieval times," she jokes.

"Anyway. Attended University of Westminster on a football scholarship—"

"Which he lost his final year when he broke his ankle, but he still graduated with a degree in Art and Design," Gwen interrupts. "His father wanted him to study business or finance. He wanted to study art. He did what he wanted to do, and that's why his father disowned him."

"Oh."

"Stupid, huh?"

"Seems kind of pigheaded, yes. There has to be more to it than that."

"Probably, but I don't know yet. Did you find anything else out? Something I _don't_ already know?"

"His mother died in childbirth?" he tries.

"Know that already. Try again."

"He got top marks in school. Probably why his dad was so irate."

"He is smart, yes. He's also immensely talented."

"Ah, but does any of his work get seen?"

"Well, certainly his tattoos do," she says, "but no." She frowns.

"I'm sorry, Gwen, but if he's going to be a tattoo artist all his life…"

"Yes, I _know,_ daddy. The wheels are already turning in my head. Arthur isn't the only one who got top marks in school, remember?"

"Yes, Love, I know. Hey, is that gigolo with the hair I talked to today _really_ the owner of that tattoo place?"

"Dad! Yes, he is, and he's not a gigolo. He's a little… flamboyant, yes, but he's very sweet, really. Just a bit mischievous. And the place is clean, and they actually wear surgical gloves while they work."

"Hmm." He actually sounds impressed.

"I'll bet that's something you didn't find. Arthur does not smoke or do drugs, and he doesn't have the clap or anything."

"Okay, didn't really want that last detail. Drinker?"

"Mainly beer, if anything. Likes sweets."

"Sweets?"

"You know, candy. He has large jars of candy in his apartment. And he drives a motorcycle, which I have been on."

"I don't like that."

"He makes me wear this thick leather jacket of his when I do."

"Helmet?"

"Did you have a good day at work otherwise?" She avoids the question.

"Guinevere…"

"No helmet, sorry."

"Don't like that. Not one bit."

"No laws against it."

"I know. Just… be careful."

"You know I always am. Now. Your penance for stalking my boyfriend today…"

"What?"

"You heard me. I would like a favor."

"Let me hear it first, then I'll decide if I will grant it."

"One of Arthur's friends put in his application with your office two weeks ago, and he hasn't heard anything. Can you look into it, please?"

"Sure, I can do that. Name?"

"Percival Oxley."

Her father is quiet on the other end. She doesn't even hear him writing the name down.

"Dad?"

"That's a real person?"

"Of course it is," she says, perplexed.

"His application has become somewhat infamous around the office. We thought someone was having us on."

"Why?"

"Because he seemed too perfect. And _Percival_ Oxley? Come on, at least give a believable fake name."

"Well, trust me, it's his real name and you will not be disappointed. He goes by Ox, though, not Percival or Percy."

"He's a friend of Arthur's?"

"Yes. What else was so unbelievable about his application?"

"Well, let me see what I can remember. He's nearly two meters tall and has a black belt in karate. Also got high marks in school. Currently a bouncer at some pub?"

"Yes, it's right next door to the tattoo parlor. The Dragon's Head. And not only is he tall, but he's built like his namesake animal."

"Of course it is. Big boy, then?"

"Muscular, not fat at all. Total gentleman, too. He escorted me down the sidewalk today and I was laughing at how small my hand looked on his arm."

"He _escorted_ you down the sidewalk? Wha…"

"I was going to see Arthur at his shop after work today, and Ox saw me coming, so he left the pub to run over and walk with me so I wouldn't have to walk down that lovely street by myself."

"Oh," he says quietly.

" _That's_ the kind of man he is, dad. Seems to me you could use an entire force full of Percival Oxleys."

When Tom doesn't comment, she continues. "Dad, Arthur and his friends are all complete gentlemen. Even the gigolo."

"Gwen?"

"Yes?"

"Are they punks? That tattoo shop and pub are punk places, and that Gwaine Patrick looked a bit… punk-y."

"Yes, they are. But that does not change what I just said about them. They just like the music and the style. They're not hoodlums. Okay, Gwaine smokes. But lots of people smoke."

"Gwen…"

"They look after each other, Dad. Arthur's friend Merlin has been his best friend since they were boys. A lifelong friendship. Oh, and Merlin is a writer, too. So they all have brains."

"Gwen…"

"And Gwaine's business may be a tattoo parlor, but it's a business nevertheless, and he runs it pretty well, from what I saw today. His sister even works there."

"Guinevere!" he almost yells.

"What?"

"You can stop selling, I give!"

"Good. So have whoever it is in charge of recruitment call Ox tomorrow and get him enrolled in training."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"I love you, Gwennie."

"Love you, too, Dad."

She hangs up the phone and rubs her ear, which is hot and probably red from the plastic handset pressed to it all that while.

"Thirsty," she mutters, standing and going to the kitchen for some water.

Settling in on the sofa, she picks up Merlin's manuscript. It is simply called _Rylan._

She frowns. _Title isn't very catchy, but let's see._ Opening to the first page, she reads the first line.

_In a land of myth…_

xXx

Guinevere's phone rings, snapping her back to reality. She's spent the last hour and a half completely absorbed in Merlin's story of a young man, Rylan, who goes to the kingdom of Redlan to live with and learn from his great-uncle, who is the royal physician. Rylan is a wizard and he discovers immediately that magic is against the law, punishable by death. It is a riveting story, and Gwen has just reached the point where Rylan is "rewarded" for saving the prince's life by being given the job of being his personal manservant.

"Hello?" she answers, rubbing her aching eyes.

"Hello, beautiful," Arthur's honeyed voice pours into her ear.

"Arthur," she smiles. "How's the painting going?"

"Well, I started working on the one I'd already started, but I kept getting too distracted by the other. The one of your back. So I switched to that one."

"And?"

"And it's coming along. Morgana just called. She wants to see us for dinner Wednesday. Will that work for you?"

"Yes."

"She'll buy, too, since she'll take us someplace swank. I'll have to wear proper trousers, ugh."

She laughs. "And your best t-shirt, yes?"

"Whatever smells the least offensive."

She laughs again. "I've been reading Merlin's manuscript."

"How is it? Is it awful? Please tell me it's not awful."

She is touched by his concern for his friend. "It's excellent. I've been reading steadily for the last hour and a half, actually. Man does not know how to properly use a comma, and he occasionally puts apostrophes where they don't belong, but his storytelling is excellent. Engrossing. And I think he's got you in the story as one of the characters."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, you appear to be Prince Drake."

"Ooh, a prince, I like that."

"Well, the main character is actually the Prince's _servant._ And the prince is a bit, um, arrogant."

Arthur laughs. "Arrogant and handsome? Dashing?"

"He's good with a sword," she says, regretting the choice of words immediately.

"You would know, my princess," he says suggestively.

She giggles, and presses on. "I talked to my father, too."

"And?"

"He didn't tell me anything you haven't already told me."

"Of course not."

"And Ox will be getting a call tomorrow from the recruitment department."

"What? Gwen!" he exclaims happily.

"Ox mentioned that he sent in his application two weeks ago," she says.

"When did he tell you this?"

"When he was walking with me to Excalibur. He was my guard," she laughs.

"Good. Wow, that's really great of you to do that for him."

"He didn't want to ask, because he'd only just met me. But it feels like I've known all of you forever already."

"I know," he says. "Why hadn't he heard back? I would think he'd be an ideal candidate for the force."

"That's exactly why. They didn't think he was a real person. Thought it was some weed pulling a prank. Too good to be true, Dad said. Or something to that effect."

"I know, he looks like that bloke on the cover of your porn novel. If you put a wig on him, that is."

Gwen laughs at this. "Oh, my God, you're right!"

"Don't be thinking about him when you read those, now," he warns jokingly. Sort of.

"I will only think of you, Arthur," she says, her voice turning low and seductive.

"You're killing me with that voice," he groans.

"I know," she purrs.

"I miss you," he says suddenly.

"I miss you, too. Even though we just saw each other two hours ago," she chuckles.

"Sick, I know."

"Get back to work, darling."

"Okay. Don't stay up too late reading."

"Don't stay up too late painting. Even if it is me."

"I'll try."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Guinevere."

She hangs up the phone, his voice saying her name that way still ringing in her ears, making her stomach flutter. _Even over the phone he can do that to me._


	12. Chapter 12

"Morgana, where would you like to go for dinner tonight?" Uther Pendragon asks from behind his massive mahogany desk, not looking up from the ledger in front of him.

"I won't be joining you for dinner tonight, Father," she answers.

"No? You have plans? With whom?"

"I'm taking Arthur out. I do want to see him while I am in town, you know."

"Arthur who?" Uther asks coldly.

"Your son," she answers back, just as cold.

"I do not have a son."

"Honestly, Father," she says, exasperated. "You need to lighten up on him. Try to reach out. Mend fences."

"Enough with your hippie feel-good talk, Morgana! He defied me one too many times and I am better off without him. I have you to take over my empire when I am gone. He can continue to gad about doing his little drawings and live like a pauper. I'll have none of it."

"He has a girlfriend."

"So?"

"Just thought you might like to know. She sounds like a lovely person, actually."

"Don't care. She's probably another ridiculous artist like him. Probably has purple hair," he mutters.

"Arthur tells me that she works in publishing, actually. For Will Gaius."

"Hm," Uther grunts noncommittally, and Morgana feels she may have made a little headway. Perhaps.

"See you tomorrow, Father," she says, leaning over and kissing his forehead before she leaves.

xXx

"Do I look okay?" Gwen asks again, fretting over her skirt, picking bits of invisible lint from her shoulder.

"Guinevere, you look fine. Beautiful. Honestly, why are you worried?"

"Because it's your _sister._ The one you said can be a bitch. I want her to like me. Especially since it sounds like she's your only family right now."

"Hey, we're family," Gwaine chimes in, looking up from the shoulder blade on which he is inking a skull.

"She will like you. Just relax and be yourself and she will love you. And remember, she's not perfect," he leans closer, adding, "she dated Helios for an entire month when we were younger, and she insists upon having casual sex with _Gwaine._ So tuck those little tidbits away and remember them if you feel intimidated."

"Helios, really? Yuck."

"We all have a relationship or two that we'd like to forget," he chuckles, grabbing his bag. "Gotta go change. I promise I'll be back before she gets here." He leans down and kisses her.

"Hey, Girlie," Phil calls to her, surprising both Gwaine and Gwen. She walks over.

"Don't sweat Morgana," Phil says plainly.

"Easier said than done, but thank you."

"Look, here's the thing. _I_ like you, and I don't like _anyone._ So she'll like you."

Gwen looks at the other woman, in her tight black clothes and merlot lips and hair. _Somewhere under there is a nice person,_ she notes, but she knows better than to say it. _She has lovely green eyes._ "Thank you, Phil, that… helps a lot, actually," she says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

Phyllis looks at Gwen, studying her a moment. "I'd love to do you up like a proper punk sometime. Just to see."

Gwen suddenly laughs. "Drag would lose his bloody mind!"

"I know," Phil cracks the tiniest of smiles. "That's part of why I'd like to do it."

"Okay, I'm back. Phil, stop telling Gwen horror stories about my sister, please."

"She was actually reassuring me, Arthur," Gwen says, turning to see Arthur standing in a dark red t-shirt, plain but strangely elegant, and a pair of black trousers. He's cleaned up his boots as best he can, and removed his nose ring. "Look at you, all spiffed up," she says, walking over to him and placing her hands on his chest, feeling that his shirt is not cotton but something else, something finer, softer.

"I feel like a tool."

"That's because you _are_ a tool," a smooth voice declares from behind Gwen.

"And you are a cow," Arthur shoots back, smiling at her over Gwen's shoulder.

Guinevere turns around to see a stunning woman with alabaster skin and ebony hair, long and straight. She is about the same height as Gwen, slender and graceful. _She moves like a panther,_ Gwen thinks, watching her glide over and embrace her brother tightly.

"Morgana, this is Guinevere," Arthur presents Gwen to his sister. "Guinevere, my sister Morgana."

Morgana holds her hand out. "Nice to meet you, Guinevere."

"Gwen," Gwen says, taking the other woman's hand and grasping it, smiling warmly. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You, too. I was nervous," Morgana confesses, and Gwen laughs.

"You! I was about to die over here!"

"Well, then you're both equally ridiculous, aren't you?" Arthur says. "Shall we go?"

"One moment," Morgana says as Gwaine stands, peeling his gloves off. Arthur rolls his eyes as Morgana stalks over to Gwaine.

"Hello, Lover," she purrs at him, stroking his chest with her hand. "I'll be back later for dessert," she says, leaning in close to him.

"I'll be here, Minx," he says, wrapping his arm around her waist, his hand sliding down to rest on her buttocks.

"Good," she answers, her lips just inches from his.

"Mo," Arthur sharply says. "Reservations."

Morgana steps back, away from Gwaine, to rejoin Arthur and Gwen. "All right, let's go," she says brightly, striding from the shop.

"Wow, that was…" Gwen says quietly to Arthur.

"Disturbing? Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah."

"I can come up with more if you like."

"That's all right, Arthur, really."

xXx

"Oh, I thought you'd like to see this," Morgana suddenly says, reaching down into her purse. She produces a photograph, and Arthur makes a grab for it.

"Ah, ah," Morgana pulls it away from his reaching fingertips and passes it to Gwen.

Gwen takes it, smiling. "Oh, my!" she exclaims. "Look at you, blondie!" He appears to be about sixteen in the picture, thinner than he is now, with golden blonde hair falling across his forehead. He is cute, showing the beginnings of the handsome man he is to become. It is a football photo, and he is in blue shorts and a matching jersey, with long blue socks and white trainers and a football under his arm.

Arthur leans over to see which picture Morgana has chosen to humiliate him with, and relieved when he sees it. "Oh. That one. Okay."

"I'm saving the naked toddler pictures for next time I see you," Morgana winks at Gwen, who laughs, looking back and forth between the boy in the picture and the man seated beside her. "Though I'm sure they would hold no surprises for you," Morgana adds, and Arthur almost chokes on his water, which he was drinking at the time.

"Funny. I can believe this is you, but I can't," Gwen says. She studies Arthur, trying to picture him now with that blonde hair. _It looks very shiny and soft. The perfect hair for running my fingers through._

"That's actually one of the last pictures of me before I, um, changed my style," he says, reaching for the photo again. Gwen surrenders it reluctantly, and he sees her eyes lift to look at his stiff Mohawk hairdo. "I know, now you're wishing I'd grow it out and stop doing this, right?"

"No!" she immediately says, then, "a little, maybe. Just out of curiosity. Your hair, you can do what you please with it," she shrugs and smiles at him.

"See, that's why I like her," he tells Morgana. "She's smart."

"Because she doesn't try to change you or run your life, you mean," Morgana says.

Their food arrives and Arthur looks at Gwen. "Did I mention that my sister can be very _direct?_ "

"No, you didn't, but I did notice, and frankly, I find it admirable," Gwen says, nodding at Morgana.

"Hey, you're right, Arthur, she _is_ smart," Morgana says with a smirk. She stabs her steak with her fork and saws off a bite. "Father is well, if you care."

"Of course I do. _He's_ the one who doesn't want anything to do with _me,_ remember?" Arthur answers, tucking in to his steak as well. "I'll talk to him if he calls me, but I won't be reaching out."

"Yes, yes, I know, we've had this conversation a thousand times," Morgana says, rolling her eyes.

Gwen studies her chicken, unsure where this conversation is going to go. _I kind of feel a little outside here._

"I trust she knows?" Morgana asks, pointing at Gwen with her fork.

"Yes, she does."

"Good. Always like to get all the unpleasantness right out in the open, me," Morgana says with a nod. "And you know about our mum then?"

Gwen nods. "I'm very sorry about that. It must have been difficult."

"Sometimes," Morgana allows. "The worst part was puberty. For me anyway. I mean, can you imagine having to have _that_ discussion with your father? Oh. Wait. You have a father, right? I mean, you obviously _have_ a father, but he was around? Not, um, dead or absent or anything?"

Gwen laughs, "No, my dad is great. Mum not so much, but that's another story altogether," she says, glancing at Arthur. "And yes, that would be horrid, I agree."

"But he was much easier on me than he was on Arthur," Morgana continues.

"Mo…" Arthur sighs.

"No, she needs to know this," Morgana argues. "If you like her half as much as you say you do, you should want her to know that Father was a cold unfeeling bastard to you and so not only do you have a chip on your shoulder about how you live your life, but you're also overprotective and can sometimes behave like a lost little boy."

Arthur drops his forehead to the table, wishing really to crawl beneath it.

Gwen is staring, fork in mid-air where she had raised it when Morgana started her little speech. "Um, yes," she says carefully, setting her fork down. "I was kind of beginning to learn that he has a bit of a protective side." She reaches over and puts her hand on Arthur's shoulder. Beneath the table, she slips her foot out of her shoe and slides her toes up under the hem of his trouser leg, creeping it up to rest on his calf.

Arthur sits back up. "Thank you, Morgana. Once again, your plain-spoken nature has rendered me speechless in front of someone important to me."

"Anytime, Love," she says, taking a drink of her wine.

Arthur looks at Gwen, feeling her little foot on his calf like a security blanket, and he smiles at her. _Thank you._

They eat quietly for a few minutes, and Morgana decides to shift focus, asking Gwen questions about her job, her father, her mother (about which Gwen gives her standard vague answers), does she have any siblings, her hobbies. She is fascinated by Elyan's move to Chicago, and is excited about Gwen's upcoming trip.

"When are you going? Are you simply _too_ excited?"

"I leave next Wednesday. And I am excited, but now I'll have someone to miss when I'm there," she says, looking at Arthur.

"Ah, but you'll have someone to come back to as well," Morgana adds.

"Good point."

"I'm not thrilled she's going, but I can't really stop her, can I?" Arthur says.

"No," both women chorus, and they both start laughing. Arthur doesn't join in.

"Arthur, I will be fine. I will miss you, too, but it's only ten days."

"I know. It's just…"

"Too many random wankers to worry about, yes," Gwen says, remembering his words from Monday at the pub.

"Yes."

"Arthur. I'll be with my _brother._ Yes, he's my younger brother, but he's every bit as protective as you are. Not to mention the fact that _you_ are my boyfriend."

"Okay, Gwen promises she will not run off with some random Chicago wanker while on vacation, and Arthur promises not to have a thrombo about her going. Deal?" Morgana chimes in.

"Sounds good to me," Gwen says.

"Well, yeah, you got the easy part of the bargain," Arthur grumbles.

"Arthur…" Morgana warns, flicking his ear.

"Ow! Okay. Bloody hell, you're on her side already? You're _my_ sister."

"Yeah, which means I'm sick to death of your ugly face," Morgana laughs. Gwen almost shoots water out her nose, and raises her napkin to her face, coughing and sputtering.

Arthur pounds on her back. "You okay, Sweet?"

"Yeah," she croaks. "That one just took me by surprise. I'll have to learn not to drink while you're talking, Morgana."

The waiter comes back to takes their plates, and asks if they cared for any dessert. Arthur immediately jumps on it, ordering an apple crumble with vanilla ice cream and extra caramel sauce.

"I'm waiting for when his eating habits catch up with him," Morgana says, leaning towards Gwen. "It's simply unfair."

Gwen nods in agreement. "Very."

"Not going to happen," Arthur says smugly.

When his dessert comes, he has to fend off both women as their spoons come searching for a taste. He protectively wraps his arms around his bowl, hunching around it, looking furtively about to see if there's an empty table nearby where he can go and enjoy his dessert undisturbed.

"Come on, Gollum, you have to share The Precious," Morgana cajoles.

Gwen nearly falls off her chair laughing at this, wiping her eyes with her napkin. Arthur loves seeing her laugh so much that he allows her three bites of his dessert.

They let him finish his dessert, and when he sets the empty bowl aside with a satisfied look on his face, Morgana looks at Gwen and asks, "You know he's a pervert, right?"

Arthur groans and leans back in his chair.

"Um, yes?" Gwen asks, hoping that Morgana's just referring to his foot fetish, but also wondering why and how his sister knows about it.

"Well, at least she let me enjoy my dessert," Arthur mutters. "Morgana," he says, turning to his sister, "she knows. She's fine with it. _Not that it's any of your business._ "

"Sorry," she says, holding her hands up in surrender. "I just wanted to make sure that my little brother is being honest with this darling girl."

"I am, and I'm not your _little_ brother, Mo."

"Hey, I'll always be nine minutes older than you."

"Can I ask something?" Gwen says, angling her head at Morgana.

"Of course. I've certainly asked you plenty of questions tonight."

"How do you even know about his… proclivities?"

"Ooo, good word, that. I shall have to remember that one. If you must know, I kind of walked in on him and a girlfriend once, back, oh, around the time that that football photo was taken. They were just having a snog in the lounge, and I didn't know they were in there. I wandered in to find him with a mouth full of toes," she says, making a face.

"Ah. I'm… kind of sorry I asked now," Gwen says, chuckling.

"She broke up with me pretty quickly after that," Arthur says, taking a drink. The waiter brings the bill, and sets it in front of Arthur. He pushes it over towards Morgana, who laughs.

"Hey, you're the one with the money," he says.

"Can I leave the tip?" Gwen offers.

"Thank you, but no. This is my treat." She pulls a gold credit card from her purse and slides it into the pocket in the leather folder containing the bill.

 _She didn't even look at the bill,_ Gwen notes.

xXx

Morgana drives them back to Excalibur, parking her car outside and going inside with them.

"Gwaine lives upstairs," Arthur mutters to Gwen.

"Ah."

"Well, Gwen, it was very nice to meet you, and I hope to see more of you," Morgana says, glancing at her brother.

"Yes, I had a wonderful time, Morgana, thanks again for dinner."

Morgana leans in and gives Gwen a hug, and whispers in her ear, "Take care of him. He needs it."

Gwen smiles at her when they part, showing she understands.

"Brother," Morgana says, "don't scare this one away." She pulls him to her for another hug, kisses him on the cheek, and says, "Love you. Be good."

"Yes, you too. And if you can't be good—"

"Be careful," she finishes with a smile. "All right. Take her home. I'm going to go upstairs and do some naughty things to a certain rascally Irishman."

"Ack! Don't want to know!" Arthur exclaims, retrieving the bag containing his jeans and shirt from the day before taking Gwen's hand and leading her back outside to his motorcycle.

"Well, that was horrifying. For me, I mean. She was her normal self, and by that, I mean she was completely relentless."

"I had fun," Gwen says simply.

"Of course _you_ did," he says. "You weren't the one being placed under the microscope."

"Arthur," she says, pulling him close and kissing him, "you don't need to worry. She didn't scare me away at all." She kisses him again. "I don't think any less of you." Another kiss. "I liked learning more about you from your sister. Different point of view, you know." She pulls his head down to hers and kisses him fully, plunging her tongue into his mouth, sucking at his lips.

"Oh, you had better be prepared to continue this behind closed doors," he groans when she finally releases him.

"Take me to my flat and I'll get some things; then we can go to yours."

"Excellent," he says, climbing on his motorcycle.

Gwen slides her arms around his waist, holding tightly, resting her head on his back. "I miss Iggy anyway," she says, just before he starts his bike.

xXx

Half an hour later, they're at Arthur's, where Gwen is immediately accosted by Iggy when she bends to remove her shoes.

"Hello, Iggy, I missed you, too, Baby," she coos at the cat, who rubs against her shins affectionately, purring shamelessly. She scoops him up, an Arthur cringes.

"No… don't… he doesn't like to be picked… Oh. Should have known," Arthur shrugs and walks away.

"What do you feed this cat, Arthur? He weighs a ton."

"Sausages. And no one said you had to pick him up."

She laughs and sits on the couch with Iggy in her lap, scratching his ears and giving him love while Arthur goes back to change clothes.

He comes back out a couple minutes later in another pair of athletic shorts and plops down next to her.

"You don't like shirts much, do you?" she asks, more amused than anything.

"Are you objecting?"

"Merely observing."

"It's hot out. Besides, that's just one more thing you'll have to take off," he grins at her, and she laughs.

"All right, Iggy, off," Arthur gently nudges the cat off Gwen's lap. "My turn now."

He leans over to kiss her, pulling her close.

"Arthur," she manages, "I want…"

"Me, too," he says, trailing down her neck.

"I want to see the paintings," she clarifies, then gasps lightly as his lips find her favorite spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

He ignores her for a few more moments, kissing her neck some more, tasting her skin, smelling the lilac scent of her hair coming from the few tendrils hanging loose. Her hair is twisted up, so he has unlimited access to her neck and he's in no hurry to stop what he's doing.

"Arthur," she gently prods.

 _I'll come back to this later._ He sighs. "Okay."

He leads her over to his easel, and shows her the first painting, the one he'd already started.

"Wow, this is coming along well. Your memory is amazing, Arthur," she says. _He even remembered the beauty mark on my cheek._

"This one is okay. I'm far more interested in _this_ one right now," he says, pulling the other one up to the easel.

"I can tell," she says, awestruck by how far he's gotten on it and how _real_ it looks. She steps in front of Arthur, right in front of the canvas, to get a better view of it.

 _I want to touch it, but I know I shouldn't._ "What are you going to do with the background? Surely you're not going to place me in your cluttered bedroom," she asks, her voice quiet, eyes not leaving the canvas.

"I haven't decided yet," Arthur says, close behind her, his arms reaching around her waist. "There will be a window involved. I might have you looking out at a garden, all dewy in the morning sunlight. Or it might be night, a dark sky with the stars and moon…" he trails off, and Gwen is vaguely aware of the fact that he is unbuttoning her blouse as he is talking. "It certainly won't be a fat ginger cat batting a shabby red cloth mouse around on the floor, which is what you were really looking at," he says, his lips at her neck again, his hands sliding against her skin inside her opened shirt.

"I like the garden idea," she says, leaning back against him.

"You would pick the more difficult option," he mutters, pressing his hips forward into her back so she can feel his arousal against her.

"But I'm right, aren't I?" she breathes, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek.

He turns her around in his arms and crashes his lips down against hers, kissing her soundly.

"Yes, you are," he says, just before taking her hand and dragging her to his bedroom, patience used up.

Arthur pulls her to the center of his room, just beyond the foot of his low bed. "Don't move," he tells her, slowly walking around her.

 _What is he up to now?_ Gwen wonders, anticipation tingling within her.

Arthur stands behind her again and slowly peels her soft lavender blouse from her shoulders, easing it down, off her arms, watching as the fabric skims over her lush brown skin like a caress. He tosses it to the side, where it lands atop of a couple of his own rumpled shirts.

He leans forward and kisses her shoulder, lips parted slightly, touching his tongue to her skin as he does so.

Sliding his hands down her back, he finds a zipper at the back of her skirt, which he lowers. Slowly. Then he eases the plum-colored skirt down over her hips, hands flat against her body, feeling her curves as he does so. The waist of the skirt clears the flare of her hips and falls to the floor in a puddle around her feet.

He glides his hand down her arm and takes her hand in his, steadying her as she delicately steps out of the garment.

Guinevere stands obediently, heart pounding like a bass drum, breathing becoming ragged, hot moisture beginning to accumulate between her legs as Arthur drinks her in with his eyes once again, memorizing her.

"You're not embarrassed?" he asks softly, not wishing to make her uncomfortable under his scrutiny, looking for consent to continue.

"Not with you," she whispers, surprising herself with the truth. A moment later she feels the clasp of her bra spring open, accompanied by the familiar and welcome sensation of freedom from the snug garment.

Arthur slides the bra down and off, flinging it to the side, watching as it lands on his chair. He brings his hands around to gently cup her breasts, feeling her nipples stiffen at the contact with his palms.

"It's like they're made for me," he whispers, almost to himself, noting how they fit perfectly in his hands, loving their weight, their feel.

Gwen's eyes drift closed and she sways slightly on her feet. She knows he won't let her fall.

He moves around to stand in front of her, his hands never leaving her skin. He moves one hand down, pressing it against her pink knickers, feeling that they are warm and damp already with her arousal. Grinning smugly, he kneels down and kisses her flat stomach a few times, dipping his tongue into her belly button, making her giggle. Moving his head, he manages to capture the waistband of her panties with his teeth. He pulls downward with them, but finds they don't slide off that easily.

"Fuck," he mutters, but it comes out more like "shuck" with the garment still clamped between his teeth. He moves his hands to help, and manages to slide the panties down and off while Gwen is trying to control the fit of giggles she feels threatening at his little mishap.

"That didn't work quite how I wanted it to," he says sheepishly, looking up at her, seeing her amusement there.

"Hips," she says simply, but Arthur is already moving on, gently spreading her feet apart, working his way up her thigh with his lips until he reaches his destination.

She gasps with pleasure as his tongue snakes out and touches her, her knees threatening to buckle. _He expects me to stand while he does this to me? I'm going to collapse._

Kneeling before her, almost beneath her now, he flicks his tongue against her, sliding it along her folds, gently sucking at her. He can hear her breathing coming in ragged gasps, he can feel her hands grip his head, struggling to stay on her feet.

Arthur wraps his arms around her legs, his hands on her buttocks, supporting her, holding her. He thrusts his tongue up and inside her and she whimpers, her knees giving way. He manages to hold her upright, but pulls away momentarily, standing and moving her back the few steps to the bed, where he sits her down at the edge. He gives her a kiss, gentle and loving, his lips wet with her moisture, before returning to his task.

Gwen flops back onto the bed with a moan when his tongue again slides into her, withdraws and plunges back in a few times before moving up to flick at the swollen nub at the front, teasing it, loving it.

She is squirming beneath him now, gasping, reaching for his hands. She twines her fingers with his, squeezing tightly.

"Oh… yes… oh…" she cries out, repeating "ohs" until her whole body jerks with her release, his tongue unrelenting.

"Oh! Arthur, stop!" she begs, well over the edge, her fingernails digging into the backs of his hands as her thighs reflexively clamp together on his head. _I can't take any more._

Chuckling fiendishly, he places one more kiss on her before making the journey back up her body, kissing and licking and biting his way to her lips.

"You are cruel and unusual," she says to him just before he kisses her. She tastes herself on him again. _Curious._ _She_ pulls back. "Is… is that what I taste like?" she asks. He is busy nibbling her ear, and surfaces to look at her.

"What?" he looks puzzled.

"Is that what I taste like?" she asks again, wiping a spot of moisture lingering yet on his chin.

"You don't know?"

"No, actually. My last boyfriend, um, never did that."

 _Wait. She's only ever had one other man? Is that what she's saying?_ "Pity. For you, and him."

Now she looks puzzled. "Him?"

"It's fun," he grins, leaning in to kiss her again. "Driving a woman crazy like that…" he returns his lips to hers for another moment or two. "Making her scream with ecstasy…" he starts at her neck again. "Knowing that you're the one responsible for it just by doing something so simple," he says against her neck.

"Aha, there it is," she says. "You smug thing, you," she teases, her voice breathy.

Arthur lifts his head and looks at her, his face amused. "So you mean to tell me that you don't get any sort of satisfaction from pleasuring me, knowing that _you're_ the one making me go insane?"

"Point taken," Guinevere says, lifting her head to kiss him. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her up to a seated position. Reaching up, he pulls the clip from her hair, releasing it and running his fingers through it until it falls in a cascade of chocolate curls down her back.

"Better," he declares, scooting them up across the bed to the pillows.

"Yes, it was uncomfortable under the back of my head," she agrees. He idly twirls a curl around his finger, leaning over her, propped up on his elbow.

"You are beautiful, do you know that?" he asks softly, releasing the lock of hair he is playing with to trace her cheek with his fingertip.

"That's what you keep telling me," she smiles at him.

"Because it's the truth." He leans down and kisses her again, his hand trailing to her waist, thumb stroking the underside of her breast with his thumb.

"Are you sufficiently recovered now, Sweet?" he asks softly against her lips, "I wouldn't want to be called cruel and unusual again."

Gwen giggles as she kisses him. "Yes, Arthur, I've recovered quite well, thank you."

"Good." With that, he claims her lips hungrily, his tongue roving the soft interiors of her mouth. As he plunders her lips, he climbs over her and enters her swiftly and without warning.

"Oh!" she exclaims, actually laughing in surprise.

"Sorry," he grunts, sliding out and back in, moving his hips, reveling in the feel of her.

"Don't be," she gasps, hooking a leg around his waist, pulling him close. Needing him close. "Oh…" she moans again. _He is too good. How, how?_

"Guinevere," he purrs into her ear, biting her earlobe gently before moving down to a breast, hunching his shoulders to reach while he continues his thrusts, which are getting faster and more powerful as he gets closer to his release.

He swirls his tongue around her nipple, feeling the already-stiff nub tighten further. "Arthur," she gasps, arching her back into him and raking her nails down his back.

"Oh, God," he groans into her breasts, the sweet bite of her fingernails sending a jolt through him and he moves faster, harder.

She sighs, clinging to his shoulders, head turned to the side. Arthur buries his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair as he comes, surging forcefully into her just as he hears her cry out his name again, her leg tightening around his waist.

Exhausted and spent, he collapses over her, trying not to crush her, but the force of his release has left him feeling weak.

"Whoa," he says, breathing heavily, "I'm… a little dizzy, actually."

Guinevere smiles and wraps her arms around him, caressing his face with one hand, his back with the other. As her fingers trace the contours of his face, he playfully bites a couple of her fingertips, making her giggle again.

Arthur rolls them over so she is laying on him, disengaging them in the process. "You are wonderful," he says.

"So are you."


	13. Chapter 13

"So, Ox starts training on Monday with Scotland Yard," Arthur informs her. They are having lunch at a café, eating outside, enjoying a pleasant Saturday now that the heat has finally broken.

"Yes, I know. He told me," Gwen smiles at him, poking a cucumber from her salad with her fork.

"He did?"

"Yes, Wednesday. He bombarded me outside again when I was coming to meet you. Picked me up and gave me a huge hug that nearly cracked my ribs, he was so excited," she laughs.

Arthur scowls.

"Now, don't be cross with him, he didn't hurt me. Or are you annoyed that I already knew your news?"

"Both."

She laughs again, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"The only person not happy about this development for him is Leon," Arthur comments. "I mean, he's happy for Ox and all, but now he has to find a new bouncer for the pub, you know?"

"Yes, I suppose. He said he'd still help out when he could, like weekends, but we all know that won't last," Gwen adds, once again showing that she knows more than he realizes.

"Poor Leon," Arthur muses, "he got off easy because he's known Ox forever and so the job was an easy fit. Leon's father owns the building that the pub and the shop are in. Or did you know _that,_ too?"

"No, I didn't know that. I did wonder, though, since you said that Leon only manages the pub."

"Yeah, his dad owns it. But it's basically Leon's, since his dad tends to spend most of his time in the Mediterranean, on a semi-permanent vacation."

"Must be nice to have a bit of cash," Gwen says.

"Right," Arthur says, a little bitterly.

"Oh, sorry," she apologizes.

"No, it's fine. I rather like not being tied to my father's purse strings. Means I'm not under his thumb, you see."

"Yes," Gwen says, but she is not entirely convinced. "So where does Merlin live?"

"With Leon. They're flatmates. That way one of them is always close by if needed at the pub. Ox has a place not far away, too, a basement flat like mine. It's awful for him, though. Low ceiling."

"Oh no!" she exclaims, laughing.

"Speaking of Merlin, have you finished his manuscript?" he asks, taking a bit of his burger.

"Almost. I'm actually editing it as I read."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it's all a part of my sinister master plan, you see. I'm going to convince Mr. Gaius to read it, and he'll not only see Merlin's brilliant writing, but my brilliant editing as well."

"You clever little fox, you," he says, grinning.

"Is it… too brash of me?" she asks, suddenly unsure.

"No, it's brilliant, really. I mean, why not give yourself a little push as well?"

"That's what I was originally thinking, but I'm starting to have second thoughts."

"Don't. You deserve to be more than just a receptionist. You know it, and I know it. This may be the only way for you to show Mr. Gaius what you can do. So proceed with your plan or I will come to your office and handle things myself. I'll wear my most offensive t-shirt, and I'll bring Gwaine with me."

She holds her hands up. "Okay, okay! I'll do it!"

"When?" he asks.

"When?" she repeats.

"Yes. You need to decide when and stick to it so you can't keep putting it off. Give yourself a deadline, so to speak."

 _Damn him, he's right._ She takes a deep breath. "I'll do it Tuesday before I leave for my trip. That way he can have that week and a half to look it over without my interference, and I won't be sitting there outside his office wondering if he's reading it."

"Perfect," he says, nodding.

xXx

Guinevere is packing. Arthur is pouting. She is ignoring him, pulling things out of wardrobes and drawers, holding them up and either putting them back or into the suitcase.

"You're not leaving for four more days, Guinevere," he protests, sitting like a lump of a spoiled child on her bed, kicking her suitcase.

"And if you're going to carry on like this for the next four days, you can go home and stay there," she says, fixing him in her stare, her hands on her hips.

"Sorry. I just…"

"Just say it. You don't want me to go."

"I don't."

"Too bad," she says, spinning away.

"I know. That's what's so irritating."

"Would you really stop me if you could?" she asks, turning back again. "Think carefully about your answer."

He opens his mouth, then closes it. "No."

"Good answer," she snaps, turning back to her wardrobe once again, now pulling clothes out a little more vigorously than before, as if she is angry with them instead of him.

 _Shit._ "Guinevere," he says, climbing off the bed and walking over to her. "I'm sorry, Sweet," he says quietly, putting his hands on her shoulders.

She moves away from him, shrugging him off with a sniffle.

 _Fuck me, she's crying. I made her cry. I never wanted to do that._ "Guinevere," he tries again, following her into the bathroom.

She is sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, tissue clutched in her hand. "I was really looking forward to this trip, Arthur. I've had it planned for almost a year. And if you're going to be a giant pain in the arse about it, then we're going to have a problem. I won't allow you to ruin my vacation."

He drops to his knees on the floor in front of her. "I'm sorry," he says, almost a plea, surprised to find tears pricking at his eyes as well. _Go away, go away._ "I want you to have a good time with your brother, I really do. Really," he says, taking her empty hand. "It's just… difficult for me. I'm going to miss you so much," he admits softly.

"I'm going to miss you, too, Arthur, but I know that's not the only reason you don't want me to go." She dabs her eyes with the tissue.

He looks to the side. _She already knows me too well._

"What did we promise at dinner with your sister?" she asks.

"That you wouldn't run off on me in Chicago and I wouldn't have a fit about you going."

"Yes. And…?"

"And I just fucked it right up, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"Arthur. I'm asking you to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Of course."

She studies him, not sure if she believes him or not.

"Really. I do trust you. I…"

"I know, Arthur. You want to protect me. Well, that's not always going to be possible."

"I have a hard time accepting that."

"I know. But you have to figure out how. Because I'm leaving in four days, and I want these last four days before I go to be _good_ ones, do you understand me?"

"Whoa. Strict. Yes, I understand. I want the same thing."

"And if you're going to be a… a _bitch_ the entire time, then that's not going to happen."

He actually chuckles at her calling him a bitch. "I know."

"So stop it."

"Okay." His shoulders slump slightly.

"Now get out. I have to pee," she says, lightly shoving him.

He leans over and kisses her cheek before leaving her alone in the bathroom. In the hallway, he leans his head against the wall, still furious with himself. _Stupid, stupid. You like this girl. No, you love her. Just admit it, you do. Don't go all Alpha Male on her or she will walk. You know this. Get it together or you will lose her._

"Arthur?" Gwen's soft voice reaches his ears, and he lifts his head from the wall.

"I'm okay," he says, straightening up and holding his arms out to her. She walks into his embrace, holding his waist tightly as he wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

_Tell her._

_No, don't. It's too early. You'll scare her away._

_But it's a perfect moment to say it._

_Wait._

"Will you help me pack?" she asks, looking up at him, her eyes rimmed with red.

He smiles and strokes her cheek. "Of course."

Arthur immediately dives into her underwear drawer and proceeds to dig until he finds ten of the most unattractive pairs of knickers he can find.

"There," he declares.

Gwen looks and bursts forth laughing, unable to help herself. "You are ridiculous," she says. "But actually…" she says, going to her nightstand and pulling out a circular plastic case. "Actually, I'll need some of those. See? Good timing for my trip. Well, as far as you're concerned, anyway." She points to the pack, which will be empty in a week.

He peers at it, not sure what he's looking at. "What does that mean, exactly? You'll have to pardon me, but I am a bit ignorant here."

"Female issues while I'm in America. So my, um, _lady parts_ won't even be open for business most of the time I'm there."

"Aha," he says, understanding, unable to keep from smiling.

"You are _so_ predictable," she groans, dropping the pack back in the drawer.

"Sorry," he says, trying to stop smiling. "Oh. Ugh. So you mean that _these,_ " he prods the pile of knickers with a finger, "are your…"

"Period pants, yes," she declares, purposely being as straightforward as possible about it because he is so clearly horrified by the concept. She strides to the pile, counting on her fingers, and removes a few pairs back to the drawer, returning with an equal number of nicer ones.

"Do… do all girls do that? Have special knickers for… _that?_ "

"As far as I know. Don't want to wear the nice ones during that time, you know."

"No, I don't know. And I don't think I want to know, actually," he says, settling back down on the bed. "I think I'll just watch."

"Probably best," she laughs.

"Can I take you to the airport?" he asks, picking up one of her romance novels.

"My dad is, actually. The flight is early."

"Oh," he frowns. "How early?"

"7:30, which means he'll be picking me up around five. But," she says, "you can pick me up when I come back. He has to work."

"What time will that be?"

"It will be a week from Friday at… hang on," she picks up a sheet of paper. "9:35."

"P.M.?"

"A.M."

He smiles. "Good. I'll tell Gwaine I'm not working that day, so I can spend the whole day with you. Even if you're just sleeping."

"Silly man," she says absently.

"Oh, wait. I don't have a car."

"So take mine. It's a Mini, so don't bring any passengers," she laughs.

"Okay. Can I…?" he trails off.

"What?"

"Can I bring in your mail for you while your gone? Keep an eye on your flat? Water your plants? Something?"

"Yes, of course. I don't have any plants, though. But yes, bring in my mail, by all means, thank you."

She walks over to him, and sees him flipping through one of her romance novels. "Looking for pointers?" she laughs.

Arthur chuckles. "I don't need any help, thank you very much."

 _Darn right you don't,_ she thinks. Then she remembers.

Gwen sits down on the bed next to him and kisses him sweetly, lips soft and moist. "Arthur," she says, opening her eyes.

"Mmm?" he asks.

"I thought of something."

"You what, now?"

"Remember what you asked me last weekend?"

"I asked you a lot of things last weekend."

"About any… kinks?"

His eyes widen. "Oh, _that._ "

"I've thought of something I'd like to try."

xXx

Arthur has grown bored watching Gwen pack. He has found a pad of paper and is idly doodling, drawing his own version of the cover from her romance novel, except he's using himself and Guinevere instead of the original models.

"What are you doing there?" she asks, peeking over. She laughs loudly when she sees what he's doing.

"I like the long, flowing Mohawk you've given yourself," she says. She turns her head, looking closer. "Arthur, my breasts are nowhere near that large, and you know it."

He laughs, "Just following the style, Sweet." He holds up the book. "I'd wager hers are nowhere near that large, either," he says, pointing.

"And your chest is… who could that be?" she looks up, interrupted by a knock at the door.

Gwen walks out and Arthur follows at a small distance, curious. She goes to the door and opens it.

"Dad! Hi!" she exclaims. "This is a surprise." She reaches up and hugs him.

"Sorry, Princess, I would have called, but I was out at the shops and got something for your trip, and I was coming right past. Are you busy?" he asks.

"No, just working on packing. Um, you get to meet Arthur, though."

"Oh, really?" he says, peering into her living room. "Where is he?"

She turns around. "He was right behind me…" she muses, but then they hear the distinct sound of three bottles of ale being opened. "Oh."

Arthur comes out with the bottles, offering one first to Gwen, then Tom.

"Dad, this is Arthur Pendragon," she says, taking her bottle. "Arthur, my father, Tom Degrance."

"Thanks," Tom says, impressed at the peace offering. _Mohawk. Nose ring. Pierced ears. Wonder how many tattoos he has?_

"Very nice to meet you, sir," Arthur says, offering his hand.

 _Sir, even? Either he's buttering me up or his privileged upbringing is actually intact._ "You, too," he says, taking the younger man's hand and shaking it firmly, trying not to be too obvious that he's inspecting the offered arm for needle marks. _Gwen said he was clean, but I'm checking anyway._

"Come sit," Gwen says, leading them to the living room.

Tom sits beside Gwen on the sofa, and Arthur takes the chair. Tom looks closely at his daughter. "Guinevere, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she says, puzzled.

"Your eyes look a little red is all. Like you've been crying."

"Um, truth is, sir, we had a bit of an argument a short time ago," Arthur offers, looking properly sheepish.

"Oh?"

"Arthur…" Gwen says.

"No reason to hide it, Sweet," he says. "I was being somewhat a prat about her going away, and she let me have it. Appropriately so, I might add," he says, twisting his mouth to the side.

"I see," Tom says, carefully neutral. _He's honest. He owns up to his mistakes. Next thing I know we'll be finding out he's really royalty or something._

"Yeah, um, I've got a bit of a protective side—"

" _Over_ protective," Gwen clarifies.

"Yeah," he admits. "But surely, as a father, _her_ father, and a man of the law, you can appreciate my concern, sir."

"Um, yes," Tom says, surprised at himself. "I'm not entirely thrilled with her going alone either, but _you_ try stopping her when she has her mind set on something," he says, chuckling.

"I'm beginning to discover that," Arthur laughs now, too.

"But I know that Elyan will look after her. He may be a pastry chef, but he's no pansy, that's for damn sure," Tom says, taking a pull from his bottle.

Gwen sighs. "If the two of you are finished throwing your testosterone around, may I have my present?" she asks, looking at her father.

"Mmm. Yes, sorry, here." He gives her the bag, and she digs inside, producing a new Polaroid camera.

"Dad! You didn't!"

"I did. If I couldn't be there, I wanted you to be able to take a whole ton of pictures for me. There's a case for it and several packs of film in there, too."

She jumps over and hugs the burly man, squeezing his neck. "Thank you, Daddy, I love it," she says, kissing his cheek.

"Is that one of those where the photo comes right out?" Arthur asks, leaning forward and setting his bottle on a coaster.

"Yes," Gwen says, opening the box eagerly, grinning like a little girl at Christmas.

"Cool."

"Arthur," Tom turns his attention to him while Gwen gets her new toy set up.

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't like the way you look," he starts.

"Daddy…"

He holds up his hand, " _But_ you seem a decent bloke. Guinevere certainly seems happy with you. And clearly you do care about her."

"I do, sir."

"Just remember this, young man: I carry a gun and know how to use it."

"Understood."

"I also know six ways to permanently disable a man."

"Well, you'll have to discuss that subject with Ox on Monday, sir. He can teach you four more."

Tom stops short, his mouth open. Gwen watches. Suddenly he starts laughing, a deep joyous rumble.

"You're okay, lad," he says, sitting back and taking another drink from his bottle.

Gwen breathes again, snapping the door closed, securing the film inside the camera. "There," she declares, and immediately lifts the camera to her eye and snaps a shot of Arthur, his face still twinkling with laughter.

"That's the memory I want to take with me," she declares, pulling the photo from the camera.

As she watches, the gray square gradually transforms into an image of Arthur's handsome laughing face.

xXx

"When are you going to tell me?" he asks, poking a bite of fish with his fork. He's been preoccupied since she teased him with her news this afternoon.

"Oh, I don't know," she says evasively. "I might yet chicken out."

"Guinevere, you promised."

"Did I?"

"I think so. Sure, why not? You did. And besides, it's practically all I've been thinking about since then. I'm going mad, honestly. It would be most unfair to leave me… hanging."

"I know. I'm still trying to decide _exactly_ what I want to do."

"I could help you if you'd tell me," he tries. "This is good fish, by the way."

"Thank you. And I'll think about telling you," she teases.

He makes a frustrated growl and picks up his bottle of ale, taking a drink.

Gwen reaches over and picks up the photo she took of him. "I'll bring this with me on my trip," she says.

"Can I take one of you?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Not here," he looks around.

"Um…" she hesitates, afraid he's got something in mind that she might not be comfortable with.

"No, no, nothing indecent!" he exclaims, laughing. "I just want a photo of you someplace other than your kitchen."

"Why? We've got some good memories in this kitchen, I seem to recall," she purrs, leaning forward and sliding her foot up his leg.

He shudders slightly, leaning forward to kiss her across the table. "Tell me," he whispers.

"Later."

He makes a frustrated grunt, and leans back. "Pain."

"Yes. Done?" she asks, even though his plate is empty.

"Yeah," he answers, standing when she takes his plate. He follows her to the sink and starts poking through cupboards to look for something sweet.

"You are hopeless," she says, putting the dishes in the sink.

"And you don't have any good sweets."

"If I had them, I would eat them."

"Kind of the point."

"Check the freezer."

"Aha. Ice cream." He pulls out the carton and finds a spoon, leaning against the counter. He digs in and eats straight from the container.

"Arthur…" she sighs at him.

"What?" he asks, mouth full of ice cream. "You want to wash another bowl?"

"I suppose you've a point," she allows, turning back to the sink.

Arthur finishes what he wants of it and returns the carton to the freezer. Gwen is still standing at the sink, drying the dishes now, and he comes up behind her, slipping his arms around her to wash his spoon.

He nibbles at her neck lightly as he dries the spoon with the corner of the towel she has in her hand.

Gwen sighs and leans back against him. He turns her face gently towards him, angling it up and back, kissing her softly but ardently.

He gently pulls away, lightly tugging her lower lip with his teeth as he does so. Staring down into her clear brown eyes, he caresses her cheek.

"Come on, tell me."


	14. Chapter 14

Guinevere leads him back to the bedroom, not saying anything. He follows like an obedient puppy, eager yet perplexed.

She looks around the room a moment, then tells him, "Take your shirt off."

"Okay," he says, whipping it quickly over his head.

"On the bed," she says, her voice velvety-soft.

_She's nervous. I'm too intrigued._

While he lounges on the bed, she opens a drawer and pulls out a long silk scarf.

Arthur's face puzzles. _There are several things she could do with that._

Gwen climbs on the bed with him, straddling him, pressing him back onto the pillows. She leans down and kisses him, momentarily slipping her tongue between his lips, just giving him a taste.

"Guinevere, what…?" he starts.

"Shhh…" she shushes him with another kiss.

"Okay."

She takes his left hand, bringing it to her lips, kissing each finger, pulling one into her mouth for a moment, sucking on it, biting the tip, before bringing it up over his head against the headboard.

She leans forward, intentionally pressing her breasts into Arthur's face, and threads the scarf through an opening in the headboard and around his wrist.

 _Ah, I see what she's doing now._ He leans his head back and smiles, feeling his right hand being lifted now. This one she presses to her breast, and his fingers reflexively close around it, caressing it lovingly, knowing that this will be his last opportunity for at least a little while.

She sighs, arching into his hand. He can feel her nipple beneath the material of the tank top she is wearing, and he runs his fingers over it, smiling again when he hears her make a soft noise in the back of her throat.

Gwen removes his hand from her breast and kisses it as she did the other, turning it slightly to place a kiss on the callous at the side of his middle finger. Then she raises it up with the other, tying the other end of the scarf around his right wrist. Securely.

Arthur pulls at his bonds, finding them quite secure. _I don't know if I should be happy about this or worried,_ he thinks.

"Now," Gwen says, sitting up and looking down at him. "What should I do with you?"

His eyes widen. "I have a few ideas," he tries.

"You have no say in this," she says, smirking at him. "You are mine to do with what I will, now. I could go back out into the living room and flip on the telly for an hour or so if I wanted."

"You wouldn't!" he exclaims.

"Wouldn't I?" she asks, climbing off him.

"Guinevere!" he calls, pulling at the scarf.

She laughs and pulls a small bag out of her wardrobe.

"What's that?" he asks, craning his neck to try and see as she sweeps from the room.

_What the hell is she doing? What was in that bag?_

He waits. A few minutes later, she comes back, dressed in red lingerie and heels. Very high heels.

 _Where did she have those stashed?_ "Bloody hell," he mutters, lifting his head to get a better look. "Who's being cruel and unusual now?" he moans, fingers flexing.

"That's no way to get yourself free," she informs him.

"Oh, so it's like that, then," he says. "I have to be a good boy."

Gwen nods, slowly walking forward. He watches the swing of her hips, her long slender legs, her breasts rising above the top of the bustier; her dark curls cascading freely around her shoulders.

"Gorgeous," he whispers. "If my hands were free I'd be running for that camera right now."

"Never in a million years," she says.

"I know," he admits with a half-smile.

"So you like it?"

"You need to ask?"

She smiles at him, a slow, seductive smile.

"Turn around?" he asks.

"You're in no position to be making requests," she teases him.

He groans, then, "Please?"

Chuckling, she slowly spins for him. The panties are high-cut in back, exposing a great deal of her lovely backside, and Arthur smiles appreciatively.

"Thank you."

She comes closer, walking towards the bed, climbing onto it beside him. Kneeling next to him, she raises one foot up and places it on his chest, careful not to stab him with her heel.

"I presume you want a closer look at these?" she purrs.

"God, those are hot," he says, lifting his head to look at her feet in the black strappy sandals she has on. The heels are at least three and a half inches high, arching her foot attractively. _So that's why she painted her toenails red,_ he notes.

Gwen lifts her foot from his chest and very carefully pushes his head back down to the pillows with it, the toe of her shoe on his forehead.

Arthur groans again, squirming. _I need to kiss those toes._

She moves again, straddling his waist, lightly raking her nails down his chest, tracing patterns, making circles around his navel.

"You have too many clothes on," she declares, scooting further down to sit on his thighs.

"Yeah," he agrees, moving his hips. His jeans have been quite uncomfortable since she appeared in that outfit.

She unbuckles his belt and opens his trousers, climbing off to remove them. "Up," she commands, and he lifts his buttocks so she can slide them off.

"Do you even own any underwear?" she asks suddenly.

"One or two pair," he answers, laughing as she pulls his socks off and tosses them to the floor with his jeans.

Gwen crawls up over his body, dipping to lightly drag over his erect member with her body. She lays flush against him then, and places a kiss on his chest, his neck, his jaw. Finally she reaches his lips, her hands on his chest while she ravages his mouth with her tongue, greedy. She feels his chest and shoulders flex as he pulls at the scarf, apparently forgetting again that he is bound.

"I want to touch you," he pleads between kisses.

"No," she tells him, sitting back, adjusting her hips and legs.

She gazes down at him, her hand trailing to the row of tiny clasps in the front of her bustier. "On or off?"

"Ooo… on for a little bit more, I think. I like the way that dark red looks against your skin."

"Artists," she shakes her head, smiling. "How about these?" she asks, sliding her thumb into the waistband of the tiny knickers.

"Definitely off."

She laughs and flattens her body over him again, reaching down to slide the silken garment off, holding it a moment and dragging it across his shaft a few times before tossing it aside.

Lifting her hips slightly, Guinevere reaches down and takes him in her hand, sliding the head along her moist folds a few times. She moans quietly, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Oh…" he grunts, his muscles tensing again.

She moves just a bit, shifting so she's captured his manhood between her thighs, stroking him between them. She rains kisses down on his face, delicately peppering his forehead, cheeks, eyelids, and the end of his nose with tiny soft kisses, taking her time. Finally she reaches his lips again, languidly kissing him, pulling his tongue into her mouth, stroking it with hers as her hair falls around him like a dark waterfall.

"Off now," he croaks, indicating the bustier.

Chuckling, Gwen sits back, straddling his stomach again. She drags her hands up to the clasps, in no hurry at all. She begins opening them, slowly, lazily, tormenting him. She watches, smiling as his eyes are glued to her fingers, watching them work, watching her skin as it gradually comes into view.

She unhooks the last one, but holds it in place, smirking at him.

"Tease," he says.

"Oh, now if I was a tease, I'd leave you here, frustrated and alone. And tied up," she corrects, shifting the garment slightly, exposing a bit more skin.

"Ugh, you're _killing_ me," he groans, leaning his head back again, eyes closed.

Gwen decides to remove the bustier while his eyes are closed and leans forward.

Arthur's eyes snap open at the sensation of her breast against his mouth, and he opens it eagerly, taking the stiff nipple between his lips, kissing, licking, sucking at it.

She sighs, her hand cupping his cheek as he lavishes attention on her breast, crying out softly as he bites gently, sending a thrill down through her center. He moves to the other, and she repositions herself to allow him access, reaching back for him, groping for him.

Her hand closes around his length and his lips tighten on her breast, and she hears him groan in the back of his throat.

Moving again, she removes her breast from his mouth, and trails kisses down his chest, loving the feel of his muscled chest under her hands and lips.

_He's so perfect, I'm still not convinced he's even real._

She roves lower until she reaches his manhood, where she bestows a kiss on the end of it. Lifting it with her hand, she takes him into her mouth, plunging him deep inside, sucking hungrily at him.

"Oh, yes…" he breathes, unconsciously lifting his hips, pressing against her.

Gwen holds the base of his shaft as she pleasures him, her fingers reaching beneath to stroke the softness below. She pulls her mouth away and drags her tongue down the length of him, swirls it around the tip, and back up the other side. Plunging him back into her mouth, she pumps in and out several more times, slowly at first, then increasing speed until she feels him squirming and trembling beneath her.

"Oh… God… Guinevere…" he is gasping, pulling at his restraints, and she actually hears her sturdy headboard creak.

She gently releases him, creeping up over his body again, kissing him softly. "Do you want to finish this tied or untied?" she softly asks, leisurely rubbing her body atop his, enjoying the feel his chest hair against her breasts.

"Tied," he answers, surprising them both.

"Oh," she says, her surprise apparent.

"I know, I'm surprised, too," he laughs, leaning his head up to kiss her again. "But you had better believe there's going to be payback," he warns, moving to kiss her neck.

"Promise?"

"Oh…" he groans again, dropping his head.

Gwen sits up and moves lower and, taking him in her hand again, slowly guides him inside her, sheathing him within her warmth.

"Oh…" it is Guinevere's turn to groan now, throwing her head back, loving the feel of him inside of her.

She rocks her hips, moving, bracing her hands on his chest, eyes closed, lips parted.

Arthur can only watch and help the only way he can, by lifting his hips in time with her rocking, trying to maximize the movement.

He is much closer than she is, and doesn't want her to go unfinished. "Touch yourself for me," he whispers hoarsely, hoping that she'll do as he asks.

Gwen's hands drift up to her breasts, squeezing, kneading gently, rolling her nipples between her fingers as she continues to move on him. Arthur watches, fascinated. _She's not nearly as gentle with them as I am,_ he finds himself thinking, _I'll have to remember that._

"Not just there."

As if in a trance, hypnotized by their lovemaking, Gwen's right hand glides down her stomach, and her fingers slide between her legs, rubbing her sensitive spot mindlessly, adding another layer of sensation.

"Yes," Arthur gasps, eyes glued on her as she touches herself while he is inside her, her full lips forming into an O as she gets closer and closer.

"Faster," he says, trying to guide her with his own hips, pushing up with them harder, faster, encouraging her to do the same.

She does, and he is growling now, a feral beast pulling at his bonds. Her headboard creaks in protest again as he roars his release, spilling into her just as he realizes she is crying out his name and digging her nails into her own breast, her fingers between her legs moving to grasp his chest.

Collapsing over him, panting, Gwen cuddles against Arthur's chest, kissing it here and there.

"Wow. That was… wow," Arthur says, adjusting his shoulders again.

"Oh, sorry!" she exclaims, moving to untie him.

As soon as his hands are free, they are on her, caressing, touching. Finally he settles down and wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly on his chest.

"So what was it you were debating about?" he asks, hands stroking her back.

"Which one of us gets tied up. I was also contemplating blindfolds, but I thought both at once might be a bit much."

"Yeah, probably."

"At least the first time," she grins against his chest.

"Guinevere!" he exclaims, laughing.

"You're corrupting me."

"I think it was always there. It was just looking for a way out."

"Hmm."

"Let me see those shoes again," he says suddenly.

Laughing, Gwen slides down from his chest and swivels around, placing her feet near his head.

"Now. Why do you have these things?" he asks, sitting up to inspect. "And don't say you just bought them, because these have been worn." He points at the slightly scuffed bottoms.

"Freya made me do it. She said they were super sexy and that they made my legs look really good. I wore them once."

"Why only once?"

"Turns out they hurt if you try to actually walk in them. And God forbid you try to dance," she says, chuckling.

He holds her feet lovingly, and begins unbuckling the shoes. "We can't have these lovely feet uncomfortable, now, can we?" he asks softly.

"They're fine if I don't walk too much," she smiles at him as he begins to rub her feet with his strong fingers. "You are so good at that," she says, laying back and letting him have his fun.

"Well, I ought to be, don't you think?" he grins at her before kissing her big toe.

xXx

"Merlin, Merlin, you and your commas are going to be the death of me," Gwen laments from Arthur's sofa, nearing the end of Merlin's manuscript, red pen in hand, idly biting at the end of it.

"Don't bite your pen," Arthur calls from his corner by the easel.

"You're supposed to be painting, not watching me."

"I'm painting _you,_ so I'm allowed to do both," he says, sticking his tongue out at her across the room.

"Do you believe him?" Gwen asks Iggy, who is curled up at her feet, a giant ball of fur warming her toes.

Iggy lifts his head and meows. She reaches up with her foot and rubs his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed, content, and drops his head back down to resume his nap.

"You're no help," she mutters, turning her attention back to the manuscript.

"He's a cat. He's not supposed to be helpful," Arthur comments.

They both resume working in silence, the only sound coming from Arthur's stereo, where The Ramones are currently serenading them.

 _I liked the other one better,_ Gwen notes, looking up from the manuscript again. _Who was it now? The Clash. Yes, I like them better._ Her eyes drift over to Arthur, working away in his corner, sunlight drifting down on him from the one window and a large lamp providing further illumination while he works.

She smiles as she watches him. He's singing along to the music, though she can't hear him. _And it's not singing so much as rhythmic shouting anyway, in most places,_ she notes. _He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. He's so absorbed in his work he probably doesn't even know that his lips are moving._

 _He looks so happy. This is what he loves to do. I haven't been with him that long, but the only other time I've seen him looking that content, that happy, that… blissful, is when we're…_ her thoughts trail off while she blushes, looking determinedly back at the manuscript.

_Is it warm in here?_

Guinevere sighs, blinking a few times to clear her head. She reaches for her glass of water from the coffee table, takes a drink, and returns to her task.

She's nearly done. Rylan is rushing to save his uncle from sacrificing himself to the witch Eostre. She has been plaguing the kingdom throughout the novel, and Gwen suspects she'll finally be getting her comeuppance.

Just as young Rylan is calling down thunderbolts from the sky in his grief-fueled fury, Arthur's phone rings. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" she curses loudly.

"Guinevere!" Arthur laughs, surprised and amused, setting his brush down to answer the phone.

"Sorry, I'm so close to being done, and it's a really good part, and the phone just ruined the entire ambience," she laughs, embarrassed.

"Hello? Hey," Arthur answers the phone. Gwen looks up at him, and he mouths "Merlin" to her. She nods, and looks back at the page, backing up again in an attempt to get stuck back in.

"Just painting. Yeah, of course. She's reading."

Gwen smiles. _"Reading." Right._

"Hmm? Hang on, I'll ask. Sweet?" he puts his hand over the phone and calls to Gwen.

"Yes?"

"Interested in dinner at the pub with Merlin and Leon? Leon's doing fish and chips."

"Yum."

Arthur turns back to the phone. "I think that was a yes."

xXx

"You leave when, Wednesday?" Leon asks. The pub is closed, and the four of them are sitting in the relative dim around a table.

"Very early. My dad's picking me up."

"I hate that. Try to go anywhere, and you need to be at the airport wasting time for two hours before you actually leave. So boring," Leon says.

"Where the hell have you ever gone?" Arthur asks him.

"Hey, I've been to visit my dad a few times," he states.

"And there was that time he followed that bird to Spain, thinking he was in love," Merlin says.

Leon scowls. "Thanks for bringing _that_ up."

"Do I want to know?" Gwen asks.

"No," Leon answers immediately.

"Marisol," Merlin says, saying the name musically. "She was here on holiday and Leon met her at the market. She was lost. He got her directions straightened out, and was smitten."

"Yeah, then she proceeded to string him along for the next two weeks, draining him of his cash and his brainpower," Arthur interrupts.

"Her holiday ended and she left, and he followed two days later, thinking he was going to abandon his life here for her and sunny España," Merlin continues.

"What happened?" Gwen asks, giving Leon a sympathetic look.

"I got there and discovered that not only did she not love me, but she was married. _Married,_ " he repeats, shaking his head.

"What a bitch!" she says, hurt for him. She reaches over and squeezes his hand.

"Yeah, not quite the word we all used, but it's definitely applicable," Arthur chuckles, lifting a chip and feeding it to Gwen.

"What word did you…? Oh. Never mind, I got it," Gwen laughs, chewing.

"I'm over it now. Mostly," Leon says, taking a long pull from his bottle.

"Someone is out there for you, dear, don't worry," Gwen reassuringly says, Freya's name drifting unbidden to the front of her mind. _Perhaps._

" _Anyway,_ " Merlin continues, "tell us about your brother."

"His name is Elyan. He's younger than me by almost two years. He's been working as a pastry chef in Chicago for the last year or so. Seems to like it. I don't get to talk to him much, and he doesn't write, but I assume he is well," she shrugs.

"Pastry chef?" Leon asks. "As you may have guessed, I fancy myself a dab hand in the kitchen myself. I don't get much opportunity to bake, though."

"Yeah, it's an interesting choice, but he is really talented," she says. "Ha," she chuckles, "maybe he'll have his own cooking show one day."

"Too bad we can't sample his desserts," Arthur says.

They all look at him. Even Gwen seems to be holding in her laughter.

"What?" he asks.

"That sounded really… gay," Merlin says, laughing.

"Yeah, it's really too bad we can't _sample_ his _desserts,_ eh, Merlin?" Leon chimes in, and the two men fall about laughing while Gwen hides her snickering behind her pint of Guinness.

Arthur scowls, stabbing a piece of fish. "All right, shut it, you two wankers."

"Elyan is really a good bloke," Gwen decides to plow ahead while Leon and Merlin slowly recover from their fits. "I haven't seen him since he left."

"And has this one been behaving himself in the face of your impending departure?" Merlin asks, prompting yet another scowl from Arthur.

"Of course not," Gwen says lightly. "But we've come to an understanding."

"Which is?"

"I won't be a bitch and she'll let me live," Arthur says sullenly.

Merlin and Leon laugh again. "Sounds like Drag has met his match, eh?" Leon asks Merlin, who nods slowly, eyes twinkling.

xXx

"That was fun," Gwen says when they return to Arthur's flat.

"They wanted to make sure they saw you before you left," he says.

"Of course they'd see me. I've still got Monday and Tuesday."

"You know what I mean. They love you. In a sisterly way, of course."

Gwen laughs. "They're sweet. Ugh, work tomorrow, why is it Sunday?" she plunks down on the sofa, looking at the manuscript. _So close to being done._

"Because time keeps marching on, my sweet," Arthur says, sitting beside her. "Get back to work," he instructs, nodding at the manuscript. "You're almost done, and if you finish it tonight, then you won't have to worry about it anymore."

"Until I present it to Mr. Gaius," she says, picking it up with a sigh.

"Ah, you'll be fine. I'm sure he'll be putty in your hands just like the rest of us are," he says, standing and going back to his canvas.

 _What is he talking about, putty in my hands? I don't…_ she thinks, sitting and staring, a puzzled look on her face.

"Too dark to do any more," Arthur decides, switching the light back off. He looks over and sees Gwen's face. "Don't tell me. You don't realize how charming you are, either."

"What?" she asks, turning towards him.

He sighs, shakes his head, and walks into his bedroom. "I give up."

Guinevere shrugs and settles back onto the sofa, sitting sideways against the arm. Iggy bounds up and lands on her stomach.

"Oof," she grunts. "Iggy, you are too heavy to be on my tummy, Love." He meows and delicately climbs off, curling up at her feet again. She picks up the manuscript again. _Two pages left._

"Move it, furball," Arthur commands, and Iggy makes a small growling noise, but hops down nevertheless, heading for his bowl. Finding it empty, he meows again.

"Arthur, did you feed him?" Gwen asks, not looking up.

"Shit." He goes and opens a can of food, dumping unceremoniously into Iggy's bowl. "I suppose you want fresh water as well," he sighs, bending to pick up his water dish.

"Well, of course he does. Would you want to drink that stale water?"

"Stop taking his side," Arthur protests, setting down the water and returning to the couch and his intended target of Gwen's feet.

He sighs, pulling them into his lap. Gwen hears a curious sound and looks up to see him squeezing a drop of moisturizer on his hand before applying it to her foot, giving her a proper foot massage.

Gwen smiles, enjoying the attention, trying to not let it distract her too much from her reading. _Luckily I'm almost done,_ she thinks, twirling the pen between her fingers as Arthur kneads the muscles of her foot, finding numerous tiny knots in muscles she didn't even realize she had.

Another comma out of place, an apostrophe that shouldn't be there, and a couple errors that appear to be nothing more than typos, and she's done.

 _Wow. He's done this brilliantly. I wonder if he's got any more. He's certainly allowed for it,_ she thinks, wondering what will become of Rylan if his magic gets discovered; what the future holds for Prince Drake, King Osric, and Lady Minerva. Even Rylan's uncle Haelan and Minerva's maidservant Evelyn have piqued her interest. _Evie seems to have a little crush on Rylan. There were a few sparks there,_ she notes. _She even kissed him. Wonder where that will go?_

 _Oh, wow, that feels really good._ She sets the manuscript on the table, tossing the pen on top of it, and leans her head back against the side of the couch with a sigh, closing her eyes.

"All done?" he asks softly.

"Mmm-hmm," she nods, eyes still closed.

"Was it good?"

"Very. Do you know if he's written more? A sequel, perhaps?"

"I think so. Does it call for one?"

"At least one."

"You're enjoying this," he says, switching feet now.

"Yes, but still probably not as much as you."

He laughs. "You're probably right."


	15. Chapter 15

"William Gaius' office, Gwen speaking, may I help you?" Gwen answers the phone pleasantly Monday morning.

"Gwen, sorry to call you at work," Freya's voice comes across the line.

"Freya! Is something wrong?" Gwen replies, voice slightly hushed.

"No, no, I was just hoping we could do lunch today. I want to see you before you go, you know. And I figured a weekday lunch wouldn't take you away from Mr. Wonderful the Kinky Punk."

Gwen clamps her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Fray! Don't _do_ that! Yes, come pick me up at 12:30."

"Great. See you then."

As soon as she hangs up the phone, it rings again. _Going to be one of those Monday mornings, I see._

She sighs, plasters a smile on her face, and answers the phone again. "William Gaius' office, Gwen speaking, may I help you?"

12:29, and Gwen presses the button to forward any calls to the answering service for the next hour. She heads for the door and finds Freya waiting outside.

"Hey, Ducks," Freya calls, hugging her friend when she approaches.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Gwen sighs.

"Fun morning, hey?"

"Phone would _not_ stop ringing. It's like everyone in the world knows I'm going on vacation so they are choosing to abuse me for the next two days."

"Your boss, too?"

"No, actually, he's great. I like working for him. He's like… everyone's Granddad."

"Must be nice. My boss is a prick."

"Yeah. You need to find another job."

Freya exhales, "Yeah, not that easy."

"Leon is looking for a new bouncer at The Dragon's Head," Gwen teases.

Freya laughs. "You think I'd qualify?"

They reach their favorite café and Gwen looks at her friend, who is just as petite as she.

"Right. The current bloke is bigger than both of us combined, Fray."

They are shown to a table. "So why is he not, um, bouncing anymore?"

"He got accepted at Scotland Yard. Started training today, actually."

"Is he cute?"

"Very. In fact, all of Arthur's friends are quite dashing."

"And why haven't I met them yet?" Freya demands.

"Sorry," Gwen simply apologizes, having no excuse. "I've been neglecting you, I know."

"Hell, if I was getting what you were, I'd neglect me, too," Freya says dryly. "It's all right, love. As long as you promise me that I _will_ get to meet them. I'd like my pick of the litter, you know," she laughs.

The waitress arrives and takes their orders, which they give despite not having even glanced at the menu.

"So how _are_ things with Arthur, anyway?"

"Mostly really good," Gwen says, taking a drink.

"Mostly? He buggered it up already?"

"Well, let's just say I'm dealing with a bit of a protective man…"

xXx

Exhausted, Gwen strides into Excalibur, straight back towards Arthur. She goes right to a jar filled with M&Ms on his counter, opens it, grabs a large handful, and flops into Arthur's tattooing chair, popping a half-dozen or so into her mouth.

"Bad day?" he asks, leaning down to kiss her. "Mmm, chocolate kiss."

"Not bad, just busy. The world is torturing me because I'm going on vacation. Phone would not stop ringing. I am sodding tired of being friendly and helpful."

Arthur squeezes her shoulders, rubbing the tense muscles.

"I had to tattoo a cute fluffy puppy on a big hairy fat bloke's arse today," he leans over and whispers in her ear, kissing her neck.

Gwen laughs suddenly and loudly at Arthur's remark, leaning forward in the chair. "You did not!" she exclaims.

"I could not make that up," he says, his eyes twinkling at her laughter. "Gwaine, back me up here: Bum puppy, yes or no?"

"'Fraid so, Sparrow. Our Drag was a trooper, though. Kept his lunch down and everything."

"Oh, bloody hell, you win," Gwen says, still laughing.

Arthur takes her empty hand and lifts her to her feet. "Come on. I'll take you to McDonald's. What we both need right now is disgusting food with no nutritional value whatsoever."

Seated uncomfortably in the orange molded plastic chairs, they munch their thin burgers and greasy fries.

"You were right. This is just what the doctor ordered," Gwen says, popping a fry into her mouth.

"Hey, if it's one thing I know, it's junk food," he winks at her, taking a drink of his chocolate milkshake.

She laughs, and watches him, taking a moment to observe him for a change. _Still wondering what he would look like with his normal blonde hair,_ she muses. _Maybe one day. I wouldn't change him, though. Not that he'd let me, anyway. And his sweet personality really does make him more attractive, too. Not that he needs any help there, really._ A mother with two small children sit at the next table as Gwen studies Arthur, and soon it becomes apparent that she is not the only one scrutinizing him.

Arthur glances over and waves at the four-year-old girl who cannot stop staring at him, no matter how many times her mother clucks and fusses that it's impolite and she shouldn't do.

The girl, caught by him, ducks her head and looks away, blushing. Arthur chuckles and takes a bite of his Big Mac.

"I'm sorry," the mother says, spooning some applesauce into the mouth of the other child, who is just a baby.

"Completely fine. Nothing wrong with a little healthy curiosity," he says, smiling at the little girl, who blushes again.

Gwen smiles, enjoying watching Arthur play with the child across the narrow aisle.

"Didn't that hurt?" the girl suddenly gets brave enough to ask.

"Rebecca!" her mother scolds.

Arthur waves her off with a smile, saying, "Didn't what hurt?"

"When they put that ring on your nose. Did it hurt?"

"Yeah. But you know what? It mostly made me want to sneeze."

She giggles at this. "Don't you get bogeys all over it?"

The mother is now looking like she wants to crawl under the table, and Gwen gives her a sympathetic smile. "It's okay," she tells her, "he really doesn't mind."

Arthur laughs. "Only when I have a cold. Then I just take it out."

"You can take it out?"

"Of course I can. It's like an earring, except it's in my nose."

"Do bogeys leak through the hole when you take it out?"

"Rebecca!" her mother exclaims again, but Arthur is laughing so hard now that she cannot help but stifle a laugh herself.

"The hole is very small. You know what, though?" He leans way over, close to the girl. "Sometimes I try to blow snot bubbles through it if I have a runny nose."

Gwen leans back and laughs, and Rebecca's eyes get as wide as two blue and white saucers. Then she starts giggling, covering her face with her little hands.

"You are too cute," Gwen says to him quietly, smiling her smile at him.

"No, I'm not," he protests, trying not to smile.

"You are and you know it."

Pretty soon Rebecca is vying for Arthur's attention again. "Hey. Man," she calls to him.

"Yes?" he asks, not surprised at all that she has more questions for him.

"How do you make your hair do that?" She points.

Her mother just sighs now.

"You mean stick up like this?" She nods. "I use glue."

"You do not!" she exclaims.

"I do. Not very good glue. The kind that washes out," he shrugs, grinning at her.

"Can I touch it?"

"Rebecca, no. Leave them alone now," her mother says.

"It's all right, she can," he says. "She's not bothering us at all, I promise."

"In fact, I'm actually rather enjoying this," Gwen says, chuckling.

"Very well. But quickly," she sighs. "And wipe your hands."

Rebecca briefly clutches a napkin, scrubbing her hands on it, then scoots down from her seat and gingerly approaches Arthur. He obligingly bends his head down to her, and she reaches up, slowly, almost losing her nerve, and pokes his hair with a single finger. She squeals and runs back to her seat while Arthur laughs merrily at her.

"Say thank you, Rebecca," her mother quietly reminds her.

"Thank you, Man," she says.

"You're welcome, Rebecca," Arthur says, winking at her.

Gwen is smirking at Arthur across the table, highly amused. Her mind cannot help but drift to thinking about a future Arthur, Arthur the father, teasing and laughing and playing with their own child.

Across the aisle they hear Rebecca's voice again, this time addressing her mother. "Mummy, can I—"

"No, you may _not_ get your hair cut like that," her mother cuts in, knowing exactly what her daughter is about to ask.

Arthur nearly sprays milkshake all over Gwen. When he recovers, he looks over and says, "Rebecca, it would really be a shame to do something like this," he points to his Mohawk, "to your beautiful golden hair."

"But I like your hair."

"I like yours. It's very pretty."

She blushes, hiding again.

"Did you see Guinevere's hair? Hers is long and curly like yours, but it's just a different color. And isn't hers pretty, too?"

Rebecca looks. "Yes. I like hers, too," she nods eagerly, and he knows he's convinced her.

"Good," Arthur nods. Then he looks to the mother and says, "Sorry," grinning sheepishly at her.

"That's all right. Thank you for talking her out of it."

"I figured I'd better, since it was kind of my fault."

"Good thing my hair looks decent today," Gwen mutters, laughing at Arthur and his predicament.

"Your hair always looks lovely, Sweet," he says, picking up her hand and kissing it.

"You are too biased to accurately judge," she tells him, but she is smiling at him. She's been playing with her fries for the last several minutes, clearly done with her food.

"Done?" Arthur asks, pointing to her food.

"Help yourself, Man," she teases.

He laughs and grabs the last handful of fries, shoving them all into his mouth at once.

 _Why do men insist on stuffing their mouths full with every bite?_ Gwen thinks, remembering that her brother and father have similar eating habits. _One of the few things Mum and I agreed upon. They were pigs._

Arthur finishes and stands to throw the waste in the bin. He returns to the table for Gwen and the rest of his rather large milkshake, and as he passes Rebecca and her mother and baby brother, he crouches down beside her.

"It was nice meeting you, Rebecca. I'm glad you weren't afraid to ask me questions."

"Are you and your wife going home now?" Rebecca asks.

Arthur smiles. _No point in correcting the girl._ "Yes. Be a good girl for your mother," he says, holding his hand out. She takes it and shakes it earnestly, and he winks at her again.

"Goodbye, Rebecca."

"'Bye, Man."

"My name is Arthur," he laughs, standing and putting his hand on top of her head, stroking her hair once in a friendly way.

"Sorry, she's always so full of questions," the mother apologizes again.

"She's fabulous," Arthur says. "I had a great time."

xXx

"Does that happen to you often?" Gwen asks when they return to his flat. She tosses her overnight bag into his room and comes back out to join him in the living room, bending to give Iggy a pat while he dozes in his bed. "You know, little kids with questions?"

"Um, not as much as I would like it to, actually," he answers, pulling her against his shoulder on the couch.

"That's a strange answer," she says, looking up at him.

"Well, which would you prefer: the innocent curiosity of a child, or the judgmental stare of an adult?"

"Good point."

He kisses her temple and runs his hand up and down her arm a few times, and they sit in comfortable silence for a bit.

"Arthur, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Gwen sits up. "This…" she gestures to his clothing, his hair, "this _look_ of yours. Is it truly how you want to look or do you do it to make a point? You know, like for the shock value?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he immediately reacts, his face hurt, trying not to be angry. He scoots a little away from her.

"Just innocent curiosity, Arthur, nothing more. I promise," Gwen quietly says, holding her hands up.

He is quiet, leaning his elbows on his knees, staring. Thinking.

_If anyone else had asked me that question they would have gotten punched in the face._

"That's actually a really good question, Guinevere," he finally says, his voice quiet.

She looks at him, and he sees the worry behind her eyes, the barest hint of hurt. _I've upset her again._ He reaches over and gently takes her hand, pulling it into his lap. Gwen waits for him to continue.

"I guess the answer is both. At first I did it – the hair – to irk my father. We had already started butting heads about my future, and this," he points to his hair, "was the beginning of the end, I think. I do really like it; I think it looks good. But I do get tired of the upkeep sometimes," he admits.

Gwen reaches up and rubs the side of his head, feeling the soft blonde stubble tickling her palm. "Yes, you could do with a touch-up."

He chuckles a little, then continues. "Merlin and I did this. He wanted to do himself as well, but his mum vetoed it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and he's such a mama's boy that he acquiesced immediately. Their compromise is the spike thing he does."

Gwen chuckles. "I think that's sweet."

"Yeah, it is. I'm actually a little jealous, to be honest. His mum is fantastic."

"I'm sure she loves you, too."

He smiles, and continues. "So, to answer your question, yes. I dress this way and look this way because I like the style. But I guess I keep up with it because I like making people think. I like challenging their perceptions. I don't like people jumping to conclusions about me, like when your father thought he was being sly when he checked my arm for needle marks when he shook my hand…"

"Sorry about that. I saw it too. I did yell at him for that later, too."

"Thank you. I let it go because he's your father, of course, but it's that kind of thing, those kinds of snap judgments that make me keep looking this way. Is that bizarre? Most people would just knuckle under, say 'fuck it' and give up. But it just encourages me."

"I think I understand."

"You do?"

"You grew up with a father who wanted you to be something you weren't. When you were old enough to make your own decisions, you rebelled against that control. Took control of your own self, saying 'fuck it' to doing what _he_ wanted you to do. So now you're, um, sensitive about your identity, because you had to work so hard for it. And you challenge everyone just by looking the way you look, daring them to question, to make a remark, just so you can prove to them that you're not what they think you are. So you can show them who you really are."

Arthur stares at her. _She is the first person that has gotten it. Well, except for Merlin, who basically lived it with me._ "You do understand," he says, smiling slowly, rubbing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

"And like I said when I first met you: You truly know that no one's opinion matters but your own about how you look and how you live your life."

"Well, that's not entirely true," he says quietly, pulling her close again.

"No?"

"Your opinion matters to me."

"It does?"

"More than you probably realize, Sweet." He bends his head and kisses her cheek.

"Oh," she softly says, taken slightly aback by his confession.

Arthur leans further down and kisses her neck a few times, and she closes her eyes and just enjoys his attention.

"Guinevere?" he asks, his lips feathering against the skin of her neck.

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Will you help me with my hair? You're right, it could do with some attention."

She laughs, sitting up. "Of course."

xXx

Guinevere stands over Arthur, who is seated on the closed toilet lid, shaving cream on either side of his head.

"Problem?" he asks, looking up at her and seeing her biting her lower lip, razor poised in mid-air.

"Suddenly this doesn't seem like a good idea."

He laughs. "You'll do fine," he says. He reaches down and runs his hand along her leg. "If you can do these lovely things, my head should be a piece of cake."

"I've never done someone else."

"Guinevere. _Merlin_ can do this, and had done. Many times. Surely you can't let him have that over you."

She takes a deep breath, absently raises her free hand to her hair, forgetting that she's already secured it back and out of the way, and leans down, lowering the razor to make contact with his head.

Arthur considers yelping, just to rattle her, but decides against it. _If I do that, she really will cut me. Probably on purpose._

"So how come none of the other lads has gone to this extreme with their hair?" Gwen asks.

"Well, you know about Merlin," he says, speaking carefully, actually sitting on his hands to keep from doing their normal waving around while he talks. _No jostling._

"Yes, but the others? Are they all acquiescing to their mums as well?"

"Ha," he laughs. "Well, Ox clearly can't because of the police thing, but even before that, it just wouldn't work. Not for a proper tall Mohawk, anyway. His hair just gets big and puffy if he grows it out. Like a big white-guy afro."

Gwen lifts the razor and laughs. "Elyan grew his hair out like that for a bit. Cut it all off when he started with the cooking, though."

"Really?"

"Yeah, more hygienic, you know. No one wants to bit into a lovely piece of cake and find a big old hair in it."

"Yuck." He sticks his tongue out. "You're doing an excellent job, Sweet. You have a much more delicate touch than Merlin."

"Certainly hope so," she says, reaching with the other hand to fold his ear down to shave behind it.

"And Gwaine and Leon, well, those two blokes could do shampoo adverts."

Guinevere drops her hand, laughing.

"Honestly, have you seen them? It's like they have a competition going for who has the shiniest, most flowing hair."

Gwen continues to laugh, rinsing the razor again. "Well, Gwaine has the shiny thing down, but Leon has those curls," she says, still chuckling.

He looks at her, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, if you like that kind of thing," she says, smirking.

"That's what I thought," Arthur says smugly.

"Has anyone ever told you not to hassle a woman with a blade in her hand?"

"Ah. Yes. And you still have half my head to go, don't you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Guinevere," he cajoles, drawing her name out, playing his trump card.

Gwen smiles, studying the remaining side of his head. She steps forward and sits, straddling his lap.

"Hello," he says, a lazy smile spreading over his face.

She reaches up to continue her work on the other side, finding it easier now that she's gotten used to what to do. Her left hand cradles the completed right side of his head, fingers feeling the smooth skin there.

As Gwen raises herself slightly to reach further back, Arthur's hands come up to hold her lightly, sliding against the fabric of her dress. Her breasts are tantalizingly close to his face, but he dare not move, even though all he can think of is pressing his lips to the soft flesh.

"I know what you're thinking, Arthur, and I don't advise it at this point in time."

"It's damn tempting, you know."

"I do. But I'm almost done." She drops back down, kisses him once, and climbs off. "Turn."

He does, and she finishes the back.

"Your roots are starting to show," she comments.

"Might leave it."

"Oh?"

"It would be a cool two-toned look for a while, wouldn't it?"

"Arthur, really," Gwen says, leaning back.

"Perhaps not, then. I'll take care of it when you're in Chicago."

Gwen leans in, turning his head this way and that. "There. I think you're sorted."

"Thank you. Now come back here," he says, pulling her back into his lap, where he briefly buries his face in her cleavage, bestowing lightly biting kisses while she giggles, her hands once again holding his head.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, her increasing laughter only encouraging him.

He lifts his head finally. "Shower," he says simply, grinning like a devil before kissing her hungrily.

"Shower?" she pulls away and repeats.

"Yep. Time to shower. And you're joining me."


	16. Chapter 16

Arthur plunges his head under the warm spray of the shower, thoroughly rinsing the remains of the shaving cream and bits of hair down the tub drain. Gwen stands back slightly, just watching the water run in rivulets down his body, chasing through the lines of his muscled torso, shimmering against the dragon on his shoulder.

"Come here, you," he growls seductively, reaching for her, pulling her into the warmth of his arms and the water. "You're so cold! I'm sorry, I'm hogging the water."

"I'm fine, really," she says, reaching up and kissing him, sliding her body against his, the water streaming down over them, his hands sliding along her back, down to grasp her backside while his tongue plunders her mouth.

Gwen presses against him, feeling the evidence of his desire growing against her stomach.

"Arthur," she gasps against his lips, her hands creeping up around his neck. He holds her tightly to him, enjoying her wet skin against his, the water making their lips slippery.

Arthur sucks at her succulent lower lip, pulling its lush fullness into his mouth, nibbling it gently. He releases it with a groan, leaning his head back under the water again.

While his eyes are closed, Gwen reaches for the soap, sudsing it between her hands. She places her soapy hands on his chest, sliding them around. His eyes open at the feel of her slippery palms on his skin, over-sensitized and electric.

"Ooo," he says, grinning, "that looks like fun." He takes the soap and follows suit, getting his own hands all soapy before touching her body, closing his eyes again as his hands run over her skin.

She slides her hands on his stomach, he follows suit. She moves hers up to his chest, and he eagerly caresses her breasts, the soapy film sliding between his palms and her hardened nipples. Gwen sighs and drops her head back, and her hands move to grasp him, her slippery palm sliding on his length, drawing another groan from him.

"Don't get too eager there, miss, I've got plans for you," he says raggedly, gently removing her hand from him.

"Oh?" she says with a sly smile, stepping forward to press her body against his. She moves slightly, slipping and sliding against him, the texture of his soapy wet chest hair tantalizing her breasts.

"Mmm…" he moans. "Yes, I do, my little lemon drop," he says, bending his head to kiss her again, turning them more into the spray, rinsing the soap from their bodies.

"I would have thought you'd have gone with chocolate drop," she jokes, pulling her lips away, and he starts laughing.

"Ah, but lemon drops are my favorite," he says, nuzzling her nose with his. She feels one hand leave her body and reach up for something. It returns with a bottle of shampoo. "Would you?" he asks, kissing her again.

"Sure," she smiles and takes the bottle. "Though I've never washed so little hair before," she laughs, pouring a small amount into her palm and reaching up to his head.

"Here," he says, kneeling down in front of her so she doesn't have to reach up.

"Thank you. Be— Arthur!" Her words are cut off by the sensation of his lips on her breasts, closing around a nipple, his tongue laving the sensitive tip.

"I was just going to tell you to behave yourself," she says, her fingers massaging the shampoo through the strip of hair down the center of his head. _His hair is really very silky, even wet,_ she thinks, still distracted as Arthur moves to her other breast.

"That feels good," he mutters against her breasts before standing to rinse.

xXx

"So," Guinevere stands wrapped in a towel, her hands on her hips. "What was this about you having plans for me?"

Arthur stands across the bedroom from her, towel around his waist, hair hanging to one side, drying quickly. "Yes. I believe I mentioned something Saturday about payback."

 _Uh-oh. Don't back down, girl._ "Indeed."

"Did you think I would forget?" he says, advancing on her.

"Oh, I knew you wouldn't."

"Well, I certainly was not going to wait until after your holiday." He grins at her. "You look really good in that towel."

"Again, you are biased."

He shrugs, and leans in close. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Trust me, Sweet," he says softly, kissing her. "Close your eyes."

She does, and he quickly opens a drawer and pulls out a bandana. Giving it a quick sniff to make sure it is clean, he moves around behind her and, folding it into a strip, places it over her eyes and knots it securely at the back of her head.

"Ah, I see. Or rather, I don't," she says.

He chuckles against the skin of her neck, placing a few kisses there, nudging her braid aside with his nose.

Gwen hears a soft noise, and assumes that his towel has dropped to the floor, since hers is still on. She gropes back with her hand, investigating.

"Ah-ah, Sweet," he scolds, moving away from her hand.

"Well, isn't that what you do when you're blind? You have to feel around," she argues.

"You're not blind. You're blindfolded. There's a difference."

"You are impossible."

She feels his lips against her ear, his warm, wet tongue sliding out and running along the outer shell. "You wouldn't have me any other way," he purrs in her ear.

"I would like to have you _every_ way," she returns, her voice low and breathy. Her comment draws a groan from him and she finds herself suddenly lifted off her feet and into his arms.

She hangs onto his neck, laughing as she finds herself dropped onto his low bed.

"Oof!" she exclaims, hands reflexively grabbing at her towel, holding it in place.

"Gimme that," he says, reaching for the edge of the towel and pulling it. Gwen lifts herself up so that he can remove it, and she hears it land on the floor off to her left somewhere.

For a few moments nothing happens. _I assume he's just watching me,_ she thinks as she settles in, making herself comfortable, stretching languidly on the bed.

She cannot help but smile when she hears the sharp intake of breath from him. _Yes. Definitely watching._ She listens closely, and hears his breathing, his soft footfall as he walks around the bed.

Arthur takes her in, his eyes roving over her slender form, petite and luscious. _That was a dirty trick before, stretching like that,_ he thinks, deciding what to do next. _Toes would be too obvious, too predictable. Though I will get there. Hmm._

His thoughts are interrupted by Gwen's hand, trailing along her torso, dragging her fingers down between her breasts, taking a small detour to circle one of them.

"Guinevere," he croaks.

"You're taking too long," she says, her hand moving lower, across her stomach, heading lower still.

Arthur grabs it before it reaches its intended destination. "Oh, no, you are not taking control here, little one," he says, kissing her fingers one by one. "This is my game, and you are not taking it over." He turns her hand and kisses her palm, then the inside of her wrist. Then he decides to work his way up her arm, slowly kissing his way up, touching nothing but her arm.

"Arthur," she says, her voice pleading gently.

He chuckles, reaching her shoulder, which he bites, causing her to yelp. The next thing she feels is his tongue, soothing the bitten spot.

"Mmm," she sighs, and he gently sucks at her neck a little, careful this time so he doesn't leave a mark.

Gwen feels the mattress drop beside her as he finally joins her on the bed. _Was he just crouching beside it before?_

Arthur places a hand on her stomach, fingers splaying out, and it feels like his broad hand covers the entire thing. His lips advance further, sliding against her throat, nipping her jaw before dropping against hers, where he kisses her leisurely, all soft lips and tongue, while his hand on her stomach moves higher, cupping the underside of her breast, brushing his thumb against the sensitive skin.

Guinevere returns his kisses, deep and hungry, her other senses – touch, smell, taste – all heightened due to the blindfold. _My eyes would likely be closed right now anyway, but this is different. His hands feel amazing on my skin._ The clean soap smell from his skin reaches her nose, the sweet taste of his tongue invades her own mouth.

"Arthur," she pulls away to gasp his name.

He grins at her, forgetting she can't see him, and kisses the end of her nose. She giggles softly as he leaves her lips and drops kisses down her neck again, between her breasts, to her stomach.

"Your skin is so soft," he mumbles, almost to himself, turning his face to lay his cheek against the skin of her stomach. She feels the slight evening stubble of his cheek against her skin, slightly scratchy.

Suddenly he lifts his head, presses his lips to her stomach again, and blows, as one would do to tickle a toddler. Guinevere shrieks and laughs, reflexively grabbing his head. "Arthur!" she exclaims, but he is chuckling, his lips against her stomach again, trailing a path of fire from her navel down, lower, angling to head for her thigh.

 _I know where he's going,_ Gwen thinks, smiling, adjusting her legs, parting them for him as he crawls down, kissing her inner thigh now.

He bites the tender flesh there once, then reaches up to stroke her warmth with his tongue, not surprised at all to find her already wet and fully aroused, the tight bundle of nerves already swollen and firm as he flicks it with his tongue. He smiles against her when he hears her moan, feels her quivering and squirming from his ministrations.

Arthur slides his tongue down, thrusting it inside her, bringing forth another delicious moan from Gwen's lips. She is clutching at the sheets, breathing heavily, and he reaches up with one hand to close his hand over one of her breasts.

"Arthur," she breathes his name again.

He backs away for a moment and touches her with his other hand, dragging his finger along a few times before returning his lips and tongue to her, moving his finger to slide inside while his tongue slowly caresses her sensitive button.

Guinevere cries out when she feels his finger slide into her, joined by his tongue's torment. He adds another finger and a plaintive, "Oh… God…" escapes her lips.

Arthur slides his fingers in and out in time with his licks, his other hand, forgotten, merely holds her breast, idly squeezing it when he remembers. Gwen is beyond thought, though, and her hips tilt up into him, knees falling wide as she surrenders to him, gasping, little "oos" and "ahs" and "ohs" escaping her, building in frequency and intensity until she is shouting his name, her body jerking.

He feels her muscles constrict against his fingers, pulsing, and he lifts his head, kissing her inner thigh again, but he leaves his fingers inside, fascinated as the contractions gradually slow and taper off as her breathing slows as well.

"Oh, my," she says finally, dropping her head to one side. She reaches for the bandana as he slowly removes his fingers from her.

"Not yet, Sweet," he says gently, leaning up to kiss her again.

"Oh, God," she says, dropping her hand, "you're not done with me?"

"Of course not," he grins at her again. "I've got something else for you, you know," he adds, dropping his hips so she can feel his firm shaft against her thigh.

"Well, yes, I suppose there is that," she says, grinning now herself. "What are…?" she starts as she feels him remove himself from her again.

"Arthur?" she asks. _Where did he go?_

She feels his weight at the end of the bed now and her left foot is lifted into his hands.

_Of course._

Her toes are surrounded by the warm wetness of his mouth, her arch rubbed by his thumbs, his fingers stroking the top. _Feels different when I can't see him. More sensitive. More sensual._ She gropes with her right foot and finds his thigh, warm and firm, and slides her foot on it, higher, until she finds her target.

He grunts against her left foot while her right foot makes contact with his length, pressing lightly, sliding.

"Sneaky," he mutters, kissing along the arch of her foot. She strokes him again with her foot and he bites her big toe.

Guinevere turns her foot slightly, and as he is feathering kisses on her toes again, she curls the toes of her right foot around him, grasping him slightly.

"Oh, that is it," he groans, dropping her foot to cover her with his body, where he enters her almost immediately.

"Ah!" she gasps, surprised.

Arthur stills. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, suddenly concerned.

"No," she laughs, "you just surprised me." She trails her fingers up his chest to find his cheek, cupping it in her small hand.

"Oh, good," he says, pulling back and thrusting forward again, turning his head to kiss her hand.

"Yes, it is," Gwen answers absently, arching her back into him as he takes a nipple into his mouth, suckling against her, biting softly, drawing more of the soft noises from her throat that he so loves hearing.

Her smooth leg hooks around his hip and he moves faster, more forcefully, releasing her breast to lean back slightly and watch her.

He holds her thigh, his fingers digging in just as hers are digging into his chest, his sides.

"Guinevere," he says hoarsely, his eyes focused on her beautiful lips, dewy and parted, slightly swollen and pink.

"Ar…" her voice trails off. "Oh…" she manages.

Arthur drops his head to kiss those lips once more while he thrusts deeply into her, his manhood throbbing its release as her hands grip his buttocks and she cries out as she comes again, following right behind him.

He reaches down and pulls the bandana from her face, and she scrunches her eyes closed a minute before opening them.

The room is blurry; Arthur is slightly out of focus. The dim light of the bedroom seems like the midday sun, and she squints.

"There are my eyes," he says, dragging his fingertips lightly at her temple.

" _Your_ eyes?" she smirks at him as he climbs gently off of her to lay beside her, pulling her into his arms.

"You said that you were mine. Hence: _my_ eyes."

Gwen rolls _his_ eyes at him and sighs. "If I wasn't so tired and spent I'd let you have it for that one," she allows, snuggling into his shoulder.

"I'm sure."

xXx

Taking a deep breath, Gwen knocks on Mr. Gaius' door. It's a half-hour before quitting time on Tuesday, so she's decided that it's now or never.

"Come in," his voice from within replies.

"Mr. Gaius?" Gwen says, poking her head in.

"Gwen, what can I do for you?" he asks, smiling and leaning back in his chair.

"Um, it's a little awkward…" she starts, coming in fully. He sees the fat envelope in her hands.

"Ah," he says, eyebrows rising.

"It's not mine," she clarifies.

"Whose is it, then, and why should I bother looking at it?"

"It's something a friend of mine sent in… three months ago," Gwen says, looking at the postmark on the envelope. _That means he sent it before I even started working here,_ she notes absentmindedly.

"And how did you get your hands on it?" he asks, squinting at her.

"Um, I called in a favor?" she tries, half-smiling at him.

Much to her surprise, Gaius chuckles and motions for her to come closer. "Don't hover in the doorway, dear, come closer and talk to me please."

She steps forward, and he motions that she should sit. "I… decided to take a look at it and…"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if you would do me the favor of looking over it as well. Just as a favor to me. I'm not asking that it be published, I just… want to know if it really is any good. Second opinion, like. He doesn't know I have it," she rambles, speaking quickly, fidgeting.

Gaius studies her a moment. "You are aware of our company policy?"

"Yes, sir." She looks down. _Shit. I'm done. He's not going to read it. He's going to fire me, and I'll have a terrible vacation and come back home to no job._

"You've read it?"

She lifts her head slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Did you like it?"

"Very much. I… I think there's even a possibility for at least one sequel."

He sighs and holds his hand out. "May I have it?"

She jumps up and hands it to him, almost dropping it in the process.

"I'm only doing this because I like you, Guinevere," he says, peering over the tops of his glasses at her, his expressive white eyebrows dancing at her. Gaius pulls the papers out of the envelope and those eyebrows rise in surprise. "This has been edited," he comments.

"Yes, sir."

"By whom?"

"Um, me, sir."

"Interesting." He flips through the first few pages, seeming to examine her marks first. "And you're on vacation starting tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, sir. That's kind of why I wanted to give this to you now. So that I wouldn't be around when you read it."

He looks up at her, his face puzzled. "All right. I don't quite understand the logic, but very well."

"I'd be too anxious sitting out there if you were in here reading Merlin's manuscript, that's all."

"Merlin? What an unusual name. He's… forgive me, dear, but he's not your boyfriend, is he?"

 _Why do people keep asking me that?_ "No, sir, just a friend."

"Good," he says, and Gwen watches as his eyes scan the first page, his eyes moving quickly at first, then slowing as he actually starts _reading._

"Sir?" she says quietly after a he turns to the second page.

"Oh, sorry, Gwen. Thank you. I will give you my opinion when you return," he says, not looking up from the manuscript. "Enjoy Chicago, it's a wonderful city."

"Thank you, sir," Gwen says, standing, knowing she's been dismissed. She can't hold back the grin that overtakes her face once her back is turned and she heads for the door.

_He's hooked._

xXx

"I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, you realize," Gwen says. She is inspecting her travel itinerary for the thousandth time, sitting on the couch with Arthur.

"I know. Too excited, right?" he asks, trying to smile for her. He really has been trying very hard to be supportive.

"Yeah," she smiles sadly at him. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. I never got my picture yet, you know."

"Oh!" Gwen exclaims, standing and retrieving her camera. "So, where?" she asks, handing it to him.

"Where you are is fine, actually. There's nice light by the window there."

"Okay. I hate having my picture taken, just so you know. They always turn out to be total bollocks. Just to warn you."

"I doubt that."

"No, really. Did you _see_ my passport photo?"

"Sweet, no one has a good passport photo. I think they have special cameras that have an ugly filter or something on them to make everyone look equally shitty. You should see mine sometime. I look like a fucking corpse."

She laughs, and he snaps a shot. "Gotcha," he says, grinning at her as the photo comes out of the slot in the front of the camera. Gwen nabs it, trying to keep it away from him, but he is bigger, stronger, and has much longer arms.

"Gimme," he says, snatching it from her fingers. The image is just starting to come into view.

She comes over and peeks by his shoulder, and they watch the picture develop.

"Too slow," he groans, impatient.

"Hey, it's still faster than having to take a roll of film to a processor."

The picture finishes, and Arthur smiles. "Beautiful."

Gwen grimaces, not entirely agreeing with him.

"You don't think so?"

She shrugs.

"Guinevere, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"At least once more, I guess."

"You are beautiful," he says, leaning down to kiss her. "Gorgeous." Another. "Unique." Still another. "Stunning."

Finally he gets the smile he wants, and is quick with the camera again. "There it is," he declares, triumphant.

"Now I have two. One for my wall at work, one for my pillow. I mean, my flat."

"Pillow? Isn't that reserved for my shoes?" she smirks at him.

"Do I get a pair to have while you're gone?"

"Perhaps," she says, looking down at her feet. "I need to redo my toes," she absently says.

"Can I?"

"Sure, why the hell not?" she says, shrugging and heading back to the bathroom to retrieve her polish. He heads to the sofa, studying his photos, pausing to set them on the side table with his wallet.

"Here you are," she says, handing him a plastic basket containing a selection of polishes, a bottle of acetone, and a bag of cotton balls. "Have at it."

"Hmm. Bloody hell, how many shades of pink and purple can one person have?"

"Really, Arthur, you're a painter. You should be able to appreciate the subtle array of colors represented."

He plunks down and pulls her feet into his lap, still studying the tiny bottles. Gwen stares at the television, trying not to fidget in her anxious boredom.

 _If I was doing this myself, at least I'd be occupied,_ she notes, but she is more than happy to let Arthur amuse himself.

He removes the polish, and she pulls her feet away for a moment to inspect them.

"Hey!" he protests.

"Just seeing if they need a trim," she says.

"I can do that," he offers.

"Um, no. Hand me those clippers."

He does, scowling.

"I bought you an Aztek bar today. It's in the kitchen. Go find it," she says, looking down at her toes, clippers in hand.

"Ooo!" he shoots up and trots to the kitchen like an eager little boy. Guinevere just shakes her head, chuckling.

"He is too easy sometimes," she mutters. She hears the crinkle of paper from the kitchen as he unwraps it.

"Thank you," he says, returning to the living room, his mouth full. "Bite?" he holds the bar down, offering her a bite.

"Wow, I'm impressed, he's sharing," she grins, taking a bite. "That didn't hurt or anything, did it?"

He sticks his tongue out at her and walks to the television, turning the knob around, looking for something better to watch.

"There's bugger all on telly," he mutters, popping the last of the chocolate bar into his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans. "Ah, football." She sighs, and he turns. "Is that all right?"

"Yes, it's fine. But only because there's nothing else on and I know you love it so."

"You are too good to me," he comments, walking back to toss the candy wrapper.

"Don't you forget that," she teases when he returns, plopping down on the couch again to work on her toes. "And don't get so worked up by the game that you make a mess of my toes."

"Guinevere, I am an artist. You have nothing to worry about," he promises.

"Right."


	17. Chapter 17

Guinevere squirms slightly, blinking her eyes open to look at the clock. 3:52. _May as well get up, Dad will be here in just over an hour._ She twists in Arthur's tight embrace, finding her body stiff. _I don't think I moved at all. I don't think he would have let me had I tried._

He is spooned up behind her, his arm tight around her waist, a leg draped over hers. She carefully lifts his arm, expecting resistance, but he allows her to slip out, though not without an incoherent mumble.

Chuckling, she tucks him back in, kisses his temple, and shuffles to the shower.

Guinevere blinks under the bright glare of the light, and flips it back off. _Shit. No, wake up. Turn the bloody light back on._ She flips the switch again and squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing them. "Okay. Wake up, Gwen."

 _How late were we up last night? I kept telling him I needed to go to sleep. Eleven? Midnight?_ She sighs, holding her face under the hot spray of the shower, smiling as she remembers how sweet he was all night. _Romantic. Caring. Attentive. Gentle._ Then he had held her in his arms and they talked and kissed and talked and touched and talked until Gwen could no longer keep her eyes open.

She looks down at her toes, a grin spreading across her face now. _He really did an excellent job._

Arthur wasn't content to just paint one color and have done. After choosing a pale pink to start, he painted a design with a deeper shade. _They look like flower petals,_ she had said to him. _Not exactly, but the suggestion of them._ He smiled triumphantly at her then, and she knew that had been his intention.

 _I'm really going to miss him a lot,_ she realizes. _More than I thought I would. More than I have a right to. It's not like he's said the words yet._

Rinsing her hair, the smell of lilacs lingers in the steam and she feels the suds run down her body. _Arthur's hands, trailing along my skin. His lips, kissing my body, making me feel like the most beautiful, precious and loved woman in the world._

Gwen steps out of the shower and dries herself, her thoughts echoing through her brain, rattling back and forth.

_The most loved woman in the world…_

She wraps herself in her robe and walks back to her room, where she laid her clothes out the night before.

_Most loved…_

_Probably the fatigue making me think these thoughts._

She looks over at him again, flopped on his back now, snoring. _Apart from the hair, I'm sure that's how he looked when he was a boy,_ she thinks, smiling. _A very mature, muscular, very sexy boy._ She remembers how gently, luxuriously, _thoroughly_ he loved her last night, as if she was going away forever instead of just a week and a half.

Gwen bends and kisses his forehead before going out in search of a cup of tea and a slice of toast. While she waits for the kettle to heat, she goes to the table where she has her tickets and other things sitting. On top of her passport sit Arthur's silver thumb ring and a note.

_Guinevere, please take this with you. It's not much, but I need you to take something of me with you._

She turns the ring in her hand, gazing down at it.

_He does love me._

She slides it on her own thumb. _Too big. Damn._ Smiling broadly, she quickly strides back to her bedroom, digging into her jewelry box for a chain to secure it around her neck. Then she takes a pair or her sandals, the pair she was wearing the day she met him, and tucks them into his overnight bag with a grin.

Gwen lifts the kettle from the stove just before it starts squealing and pours the water over the small metal tea ball in her cup. The toast pops while it steeps.

_4:45. I hate waiting. This kind of anticipation I could do without._

She flips through a fashion magazine while she munches her toast and drinks her tea, her fingers occasionally fingering the silver ring now around her neck, stroking it, turning it. She is excited about going, but her heart is a little heavy nevertheless.

4:55. Gwen pads back to the bedroom, kneels on the bed beside Arthur, and kisses him again, on the cheek this time. Then she lifts his hand and kisses his fingers before standing and retrieving her suitcase, casting one last look back at his snoring form rumpling her lavender sheets. She snickers a little at the sight of him, in all his masculine punk glory, sleeping contentedly in her very feminine bedroom.

There is a soft knock at the door and she scurries out to let her father in.

"He didn't get up to see you off?" Tom asks, raising an eyebrow.

"How did you know he was here?" she asks, blushing.

"His motorcycle is outside, Guinevere."

"Oh. Yeah. That. Well, if you must know, I didn't wake him, and he'll probably be steamed about it when he wakes up to find I've gone. But he's going to collect my mail and keep an eye on the place while I'm gone. Oh, yeah," she says, turning away to set her keys out for him.

She flips his note over and writes, "Thank you, Arthur. I'll be back before you know it. Be good. Love, G." Then she sets the keys on the note and grabs her tickets and passport, tucking them into her camera bag.

"Okay, I'm ready," she says, "You get the suitcase."

xXx

Gwen is fidgeting. _This is the worst part, sitting my a_ _r_ _s_ _e_ _in the uncomfortable airport chairs, doing bugger all._ Too tired to read her book, not hungry enough to buy a snack. _I should have taken up knitting or something._

She looks at the clock. 6:45. She looks at the payphone nearby, the one that has been taunting her since she sat down 45 minutes ago. _It's not too early now. I'm going to call._

Standing with the camera bag that is her carry-on and will be acting as her purse for the trip, she goes to the phone and digs out a coin.

After several rings, she finally hears the handset lift and a gruff, confused voice rumbles, "Hello?"

"Good morning, Sunshine," she says, smiling.

"Guinevere," he sighs, "you left without waking me up."

"I know. I didn't want to disturb you. You were sleeping so soundly."

"Your bed is very comfortable. But it's awfully lonely without you in it."

"I did kiss you goodbye. Several times, in fact."

"Oh?"

"You were snoring through most of them."

"Sorry."

She giggles, and adds, "I've got your ring on a chain around my neck."

"Good. Too big, huh?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Guinevere?"

"Yes, Arthur?" _He's going to tell me now, of all times?_

"Um… I… I really hope you have a good time," he says hurriedly.

 _Oh._ "Thanks, I hope I do, too." _Am I disappointed?_

"Tell your brother that I hope to meet him one day."

"I will. And you will get to meet him someday."

"He's got to make me some dessert, you know."

Gwen laughs, and an announcement comes over the intercom. Boarding is beginning.

"Do you need to go?"

"Not yet. That's first-class and people with little kids and whatnot. I'm with the riff-raff in coach, you know."

"I hope you don't get stuck next to someone horrid. It's going to be a long flight. It would be tragic if you were next to some huge fat bloke or a nosy chatty old woman. Or worse, someone like Gwaine."

"What a handsome, charming devil with a wicked grin and a panty-peeling personality?" she teases.

"Tragic, indeed, that."

She laughs again. "Don't worry Arthur. I promised, remember? And besides, I have two thick books with me that I plan on planting my nose into anyway."

"I remember."

There is another announcement.

"I probably should go now. Not my row yet, but I should be ready when they call mine."

"Okay. Have a good trip. I promise not to let your flat burn down or anything while you're gone."

"I do appreciate that. See you next Friday."

"I'll be waiting. 'Bye, Sweet."

"Goodbye, Arthur. I'll miss you."

"I miss you already."

xXx

Arthur stomps into Excalibur, frowning.

"Good morning," Gwaine sings at him, noting his grim demeanor.

"Sod off," Arthur shoots back.

"Ooo…" Phil choruses, biting back her laughter.

"Someone is going to be just _roses_ for the next week and a half," Gwaine says, rolling his eyes.

Arthur plops in his chair with a _humph_ and takes the photo of laughing Gwen out, tacking it to the wall next to him.

"What have you got there, loverboy?" Gwaine asks, sauntering over. "Oh, nice. When did you get this?"

"Last night. Her dad got her a Polaroid camera for her trip. She let me take a couple pictures of her."

"Oh, really?" Gwaine asks, the insinuation clear in his voice.

Arthur reaches up and punches his shoulder. "Nothing like that, pervert."

"You calling me a pervert, that's rich, that is," Gwaine laughs, walking away, completely unfazed by his friend's punch.

The door to the shop opens and Merlin comes sauntering in with a bag in his hands. He head straight back to Arthur and drops it in his lap.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Hopefully it'll help your mood while Gwen's gone," Merlin says. Arthur peeks into the bag, finding it filled with candy.

"Thanks, mate, but you could put me on an IV drip of straight honey, but I don't think it would help," he says, but he reaches into the bag anyway.

"Oh? Well, then, I guess I'll just take this—"

Arthur quickly pulls it away from Merlin's reaching hand, hugging it to his chest. "Touch it and you'll be serving drinks with one hand," he growls, looking up at his friend's amused face.

"Thought so. Now. We don't expect you to be your usual cheerful self," Merlin starts. Phil snorts behind him, but he presses on. "But neither are you allowed to mope around like someone shot your dog. So stop being a dollop-head and act like a human being. Or at least as close as you come to one, anyway."

Arthur sighs, opening a candy bar.

"She's coming back, for fuck's sake," Merlin rolls his eyes and heads back out to return next door to the Dragon.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur mumbles to his friend's back.

"What was that?" Merlin turns around, raising his eyebrows.

"You heard me, shitbrain."

Merlin laughs and leaves.

xXx

That evening, Merlin returns to find Arthur walking out the door.

"Where are you off to?"

"Guinevere's."

"Arthur…"

"I'm collecting her mail, _Merlin,_ I'm not going over there to…"

"Have a wank holding one of her shoes?" Merlin supplies, earning him a smack on the back of the neck, his defensive hairdo once again saving his head from being a target.

"Shut up. Come along if you wish."

They walk in companionable silence for a bit, then Merlin speaks again.

"What time did she leave?"

"Her dad picked her up at five, I think. She called me from the airport."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Woke me up at 6:45."

"Ouch."

"I didn't mind."

"Drag…"

"What now?"

"Where's your ring?" he points to Arthur's thumb.

"Guinevere has it."

"She took it?"

"I gave it. I'll get it back when she comes back."

"Right."

"No, I will. Merlin, if I'm going to give her any ring, any, um, _permanent_ ring, it won't be my grandfather's old silver wedding band."

"Does she know that it was your granddad's?"

"No. She would never take it if she knew that it came from my mum."

"So, what, you just thrust it at her and said, 'Here, take this'?"

"I left it with a note on her passport."

"Coward. Did you tell her you love her before she left?"

"What?"

"Drag. Honestly. We can all see it."

"No, I didn't. It's too early. I'll freak her out."

"I doubt that."

Arthur raises his eyebrow at him.

"She hasn't even blinked at any of your… weirdness. What make you think she'd get scared away if you tell her you love her?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's me that's not ready to say it yet."

"More likely."

"You really are a right pain in the ass, do you know that?" Arthur asks.

"Why, because I don't put up with your shit and make you deal with your problems?"

"Yes," he says, digging Gwen's key out of his pocket and opening her mailbox. He withdraws a few envelopes from the box, closes it and removes the key.

The two men climb the few steps to a door, when they hear a voice behind them.

"Oh. Um, Arthur?"

They turn to see a petite woman with long dark hair, beautiful lips, and large, soulful brown eyes.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Freya, Gwen's friend," she says, walking forward. "You must be getting her mail in for her, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Ah. I guess I thought I was taking care of that. She never really said, but since I have her spare key…"

"Oh, sorry. I asked, and she said I could," he says, holding up her keys. "Oh, this is my friend Merlin," he says, indicating Merlin.

Freya climbs the stairs towards them and shakes Merlin's hand. "Hello, Merlin," she says.

"Nice to meet you, Freya," Merlin answers as Arthur unlocks Gwen's door. They all go inside, and Merlin says, "That's a very pretty name."

"Um, thank you," she says, glancing up and seeing a pair of the most shockingly blue eyes she's ever seen. "It's Swedish," she stammers, "it was my grandmother's name. Except she spelled it F-R-E-J-A."

"Oh," he nods.

Arthur stifles a chuckle, setting Gwen's mail down on her table.

"I don't know why I thought you'd find that interesting," she says, looking down and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"No, it's great. Very interesting. I like it when names have stories. So you're Swedish, then? You, um, don't really look it."

"My grandmother was. Granddad was Greek," she laughs. "And everyone since then has had dark hair."

"Mm," he says. She knows she is talking complete boring rubbish, but he looks like she is telling him the most fascinating thing ever.

"Merlin is an interesting name," she says. "Does it have a story?"

"My mom made it up, after her two granddads, Mervyn and Colin. So, Merlin," he frowns.

"That's…"

"Interesting?" Arthur provides, using what appears to be the word of the day. His comment breaks the spell that seemed to be weaving around Merlin and Freya, and they both chuckle nervously. Merlin's pale skin turns slightly pink.

"Um, it was nice meeting you, Arthur, Merlin," Freya says, reaching for the doorknob.

"Yes, I was wondering when I'd get to meet you, Freya," Arthur says, smiling.

 _Wow, he is handsome, she's right. After the first minute or two you don't even notice the hair and the nose ring._ "I was just hassling her about that on Monday, in fact," she laughs, glancing again at Merlin, who is still watching her, his blue eyes seeming to see into her soul.

"Um, hope to see you again," she says, and heads out the door.

"Me, too," Merlin says, and he and Arthur follow her out. She goes north; they go south.

The two men walk back to the pub, and Arthur smirks at Merlin. "Who's in love now, _Merlin?_ "

"Piss off," Merlin says, shoving his hands into his pockets.


	18. Chapter 18

The first postcard arrives Saturday. It's from the airport. She's sent it to the shop.

"Hey Drag, something for you, mate. Maybe this will put a smile on that ugly face of yours," Gwaine says, handing him the card.

"It's from Guinevere," he says softly.

"No shit."

He turns it over.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I wanted to write immediately so you'd know I had arrived safely. Chicago is huge. Busy. Cars everywhere, and the buildings are immense! Haven't done anything yet; am writing this in the car, in fact, trying not to notice how fast Elyan is driving. I sat next to a lovely middle-aged woman on the plane who was returning home from a business trip. She liked my pedicure. I told her you did it. She didn't believe me. Tell everyone hello._

_I miss you,  
Guinevere_

He smiles, and turns it over, looking at the picture. He laughs at how ugly it is. A shot of the main terminal, interior shots in three nondescript blobs at the top. The words _O'Hare Airport_ are emblazoned across the middle.

"Why would they even make a postcard of an airport?" he wonders aloud.

"How is she?" Gwaine asks, returning to his client.

"Alive. She says that Chicago is huge and the traffic is scary. And she says hello."

"Hello," Gwaine says, waving vaguely.

Arthur chuckles as a patron enters. "Drag, you're up, mate," Gwaine calls, bending his head over the bicep he is inking.

xXx

Saturday night, Arthur lingers at Gwen's flat. Though happy to have the sandals she loaned him, he misses her scent, her essence. The ambience of her apartment is the only thing that gives him solace. Being surrounded by her things, in the place that she has so thoroughly put her personal mark on, he feels closer to her.

He sorts through the mail on her table, stacking it neatly again before walking to the door. Arthur reaches his hand to the knob, pausing before lifting his hand higher, locking it instead of opening it.

_I need to stay here._

He bends and removes his boots, leaving them by the door. He shuffles back to her room, sheds his clothes, and snuggles into her bed, turning his face into her pillow to smell her lilac scent.

_One week left._

_When did I get to be such a right needy wally?_

_When I fell in love, that's when. And there's nothing wrong with missing her._

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that, wally._

_Fuck off. She makes me happy._

He pulls the blanket up over his shoulder and gradually falls asleep.

xXx

Gwaine hands him another postcard on Monday.

_Dear Arthur,_

_The tall black building on the picture is the Sears Tower. It is the tallest building in the world. We went all the way up to the top in a very fast lift. It was amazing; I felt like I could see all the way home! I could see so much. The whole city, the lake, which Elyan says is Lake Michigan. I asked if we could swim in it. He said people do, but it's really very cold. The buildings are so tall and so close together. The city is so dense, it's almost claustrophobic. I miss you._

_Love, Guinevere_

Arthur smiles at the card, flipping it over to view the shot of the Chicago skyline. _It is indeed dense. And apparently she is not afraid of heights._ He sticks it up on his wall next to the first.

xXx

 _What the hell is that?_ Arthur scrunches down into his bed, his ears assaulted by a harsh, piercing, ringing noise.

_Ringing. The phone. The phone is ringing._

He rolls over, groping for the phone, peeling one eye open to peer at the clock.

_2:30. What the fuck._

"Someone had best be dead," he says, his voice groggy and hoarse.

"What if it's just someone missing you?" Guinevere's soft voice floats into his ear, and he is immediately wide awake.

"Guinevere! What are you doing calling me? This has got to be costing you a fortune!" he exclaims, rubbing his eyes.

"I know, I can hear my credit card softly weeping from inside my purse. But I had to hear your voice."

"It's so good to hear yours, too," he says, smiling, curling back up in his bed, phone cradled between his head and the pillow.

"Sorry about the time. It's only 8:30 at night here. But I figured you'd definitely be home now."

"Actually, you're lucky you did catch me at home," he admits.

"Why, have you been sleeping in the shop? Perhaps on the bar at the pub?"

"No, at your flat. In your bed."

She smiles. "Oh."

"Not every night, just sometimes. Your bed smells like you. You… you don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all. It's rather… cute, actually," she grins, using that word she knows he hates.

"There you go with the 'cute' again," he says, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "Have you been having fun? I got a couple postcards already."

"Oh, good. I bought the first one at the airport," she laughs.

"Yes, that would be the one with the _airport_ on the front."

She laughs. "I am having fun. My brother is good; it is good to see him. Doing quite well, the customers love his desserts. He actually _lives_ at the hotel he works at, which is a little odd, but he says that it's only temporary."

"Right."

"Yeah, that's what I said, too."

"Did he get you your own room, then?"

"No, he has two beds in his, the skinflint," she laughs. "He had to work tonight, so I've just been hanging around. I did go out and buy you a present tonight, though."

"Really? What did you get me?"

"I'm not telling. It would ruin the surprise."

"Bitch," he teases.

"Oh, well, if that's how you're going to be, I'll return it," she threatens, but she is laughing. "And I believe we've established that _you_ are the bitchy one in this relationship."

"Yes, you're of course correct. Please forgive me, my beautiful rosebud," he says, his voice like honey again.

"That's better."

Arthur is quiet for a moment. "I miss you," he says, suddenly serious again, his voice a little hoarse.

"I miss you, too, Arthur. So much."

"Friday can't come soon enough," he says.

She listens closely. _His breathing sounds a little ragged, his voice slightly strained, like he is trying very hard to control it._

"Arthur, are you…?" she asks, having a pretty good idea about what he's doing over there. _Wonder how long he's been at it?_

"Yeah," he admits, groaning quietly now, as if he is glad the cat is out of the bag.

"Arthur..." she says, but a small part of her is flattered nevertheless.

"I can't help it… he misses you, too… and your voice is so… sultry," he says, and she can suddenly picture him there, eyes closed, thinking of her, grasping himself, his muscular body tangled in the bed sheets…

 _Oh, my._ "Sultry?" she repeats, intentionally speaking softly, purring into the phone.

"God, yes."

"I miss your hands on my body," she says, keeping her voice at the same timbre.

He groans again. "You could… join me…" he gasps.

"No, I couldn't," she answers, though she very much wants to.

"Yes, you can. It'll be… fun."

"I _can't_ Arthur. Remember?"

"Oh yeah," he says, remembering now. "Sorry."

"It's all right," she says, closing her eyes and pressing her knees together tightly.

"Guinevere," he moans, turning her blood molten. "Tell me what else… you miss."

"I miss your lips on mine, on my soft brown skin," she continues, "your tongue tormenting me, drowning me in a sea of unbelievable bliss…"

"Yes…" he groans.

"I am aching without you, Arthur."

"Guinevere, oh…"

"My body longs for yours, to be enfolded in your embrace, to…"

"Oh…"

"To see your eyes watching me, memorizing every curve…"

"Yes…"

"To feel you inside me…"

"Ohhhh…" he groans, and there's a decisive finality about it.

Gwen smiles, giggling softly as she listens to his labored breathing.

"Thank you, Sweet," he whispers into the phone after a few moments.

"Well, I need a cold shower now," she says back, and he bursts forth laughing.

"Sorry. I'll make it up to you on Friday."

"You'd better."

"You'll be… done… by then?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"I should go. Let you go back to sleep."

"Mmm, I'll definitely have pleasant dreams now, having heard your voice."

"Me too. Good night, Arthur."

"Good night, Guinevere."

He listens to the _click_ as they are disconnected. The line goes dead and he softly says, "I love you."

xXx

Arthur strolls in to work the next morning, and Gwaine and Phil both stop cold at his almost-cheerfulness.

"Who the hell are you?" Gwaine asks.

"Yeah, mate, you kind of look like Drag, but he's been a mopey twat since his girlie left for America," Phil adds.

"Piss off, both of you," he says, but he still seems more his old self.

" _There_ he is," Gwaine laughs.

"She called last night. Well, this morning," Arthur says, grinning.

"She did? Holy fuck, that must be expensive!"

"I know. She called at like 2:30 in the morning, though. Said it was only 8:30 there," he shrugs.

Gwaine counts on his fingers. "Six hour time difference. She's going to be messed up when she gets back," he says. He looks at Arthur. _He's relaxed. Somewhat pleasant._ "Wait. What kind of phone call was this, _exactly?_ "

"The kind that is none of your sodding business."

"That's what I thought," Gwaine laughs. "I'm liking that Sparrow more and more."

"Wow, I wouldn't have thought her capable of it," Phil says, surprised and a little impressed.

The postman arrives later with another postcard. "So who has the girlfriend on holiday in Chicago?" he asks, handing it to Gwaine.

"Drag," Gwaine motions with his head as Arthur snatches the card.

"You're not supposed to be reading the mail, mate, just delivering it," Arthur grumbles.

"I'm just looking at the picture side and the address, honest," he says, turning to exit.

"Hey, Bill, when are you going to let me ink you?" Gwaine calls after him.

"If my wife dies, you can do it over her body," he calls back, laughing.

Arthur looks at the photo first this time. _She went to the Art Museum. Lucky._ Smiling, he flips the card over, Guinevere's tidy handwriting greeting him like an old friend.

_Dear Arthur,_

_Museum day! There are several all grouped together by the lake. Today we did the Museum of Science and Industry and the Art Museum. I would have loved for you to have been here with me, to see all these great works of art with you. So many beautiful pieces, but I still like your work best. S &I was really interesting. They have a coal mine and a submarine inside! Tomorrow we're doing the Aquarium. It is near the museums as well, but we ran out of time. Elyan says hello and that he wishes he could have met you. He picks on me when I play with your ring. I missed you more today._

_Love, Guinevere_

xXx

On Wednesday Arthur is expecting a postcard with fish on it or of the Aquarium, but he receives one with a photo of a baseball diamond on it instead, a large red sign bearing the slogan _Wrigley Field_ over the words _Home of Chicago Cubs_ on the front.

"She went to a baseball game?" he says aloud, turning the card over.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I know I said aquarium. We did go. It was fascinating. They have a white alligator and beluga whales (also white). Saw trained dolphins. They were brilliant. It was all so peaceful, so beautiful. But it didn't take as long as we thought, so Elyan took me to a baseball game. They played the Atlanta Braves, and they actually won. El says that the Cubs don't win a lot. Baseball is about as exciting as cricket, but the food is ridiculous. A lot of drinking goes on, too. A drunk old man in thick glasses came out at one point and sang a song about baseball that everyone knew but me. El says he's a famous radio announcer for the Cubs, but he looked like a bizarre old drunk to me. Miss you tons._

_Love, Guinevere_

Arthur laughs out loud at her description of the baseball game, and even reads it to Gwaine.

"Isn't that supposed to be their national sport or something?" Gwaine asks, chuckling.

"Yeah. And they have the nerve to say football – our football – is dull," Arthur laughs, adding the card to his collection.

"Cubs game, huh?" Arthur's client, who has just sat down, asks, looking at the four cards on his wall.

"Apparently so," he says.

"I spent some time in America in my younger days," he comments. "I found American football to be more entertaining than baseball."

"Ah," Arthur says, not all that interested. "Wonder why he didn't take her to a football game, then." He looks at the design the man wants. _Gee, how original. A heart with the name Delores across it._

"Because they don't play football in the summer. It starts up in the fall."

"I see. Where do you want this?"

He holds out a beefy forearm. "Your girlfriend?" he asks, looking from the cards to the photo.

"Yeah. Her brother moved to Chicago and she's visiting him."

"Without you?"

"Obviously," he wanders over to make the transfer of the drawing to apply to the man's skin.

"What kind of a girlfriend goes off to America all by herself?"

Arthur plops back down and looks at the man. "The best ever, actually. The kind that had the trip booked before she was my girlfriend. And I'll thank you to drop the subject now before I 'accidentally' spell Delores D-E-N-N-I-S."

"Right. Sorry."

xXx

"I told you I'm not coming in tomorrow, right?" Arthur asks Thursday when he arrives at work.

"About 36 times now, yes," Gwaine answers, rolling his eyes.

Arthur is anxious, fidgety, buzzing around the shop. _She comes home tomorrow. 24 hours, approximately. Then she comes back to me._

"Drag. You're making me bonkers. Sit the fuck down," Phil yells at him. "Have a candy bar or something, you're completely unhinged."

"Only person I know that calms down by pumping sugar into his system," Gwaine shakes his head as Arthur sits in his chair and reaches into the now-nearly-empty bag that Merlin had brought him a week ago, pulling out some red licorice.

 _Dear Arthur,_ he reads what is likely the last postcard. It is from a place called Great America.

_We went to this amusement park today. Big place. Everything here is big, it seems. El dragged me on the roller coasters. I wasn't sure at first, but it turned out to be really fun. More ridiculous food, you would be in heaven. They have a big spire that you can ride to the top in a large spinning lift that circles around it. More amazing views. El said that we could see Wisconsin from where we were at the top. I took his word for it. I could see the lake again, too. A lot of walking, my poor feet really miss you today and so do I._

_Love, Guinevere_

xXx

Friday morning, Arthur stands inside Heathrow at the gate that should be delivering his Guinevere back to him very shortly. He looks at the clock again, checks that he's at the right gate again.

 _I feel like a little boy at Christmas,_ he thinks, tapping his fingers on the armrest. He looks at the clock again. _I swear it just went backwards._

He notices that he is getting a few looks from the people around him. He's quite used to it, but there is one woman who seems amused at his anxiety. He smiles sheepishly at her.

Caught, she smiles back and looks away. A plane taxis up to the gate and Arthur jumps to his feet, stepping closer.

"They won't let you go get her from the plane, you know," the woman, now standing beside him, comments.

"How…?"

"It's written all over your face, young man. You're clearly waiting for someone special."

"She went to visit her brother. Been gone for ten days."

"And how long have you been together?"

"About a month."

She chuckles. "That makes sense."

The attendant makes a garbled announcement, and the door opens. Arthur bites his lip and cranes his neck.

People start filing out, tired, worn-looking people who are clearly happy to be off the airplane. Arthur watches carefully for Gwen's petite form, knowing she may be hard to spot.

As he waits, he watches as a tall stocky man in torn jeans and a black t-shirt, Doc Martens and the wildest hair he's ever seen – it looks like flames, dyed in shades of yellow and orange and red – strides straight to the woman beside him, a broad smile splitting his face.

"Mum!" he declares, giving her a massive hug, picking her up as he does so.

"Michael, put me down!" she commands, and he does.

Arthur smiles at them, then he spots Gwen.

She looks adorable. Her hair is in two bunches at the nape of her neck, and she is in very flattering jeans and a Cubs t-shirt. It is the best thing he's ever seen. She spots him and breaks into a run, dropping her bag at his feet before jumping into his arms.

"Oh!" he grunts in surprise, arms wrapping around her, holding her as she clings to his neck. He tucks his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent, chuckling with happiness.

"I missed you so much, Arthur," she whispers, kissing his neck, leaning back to kiss his lips.

"Not as much as I missed you," he answers softly, setting her back on her feet and holding her sweet face between his hands.

She puts one of her hands atop his and smiles that smile for him, and he bends down and kisses her again.

"Let's go get your suitcase."


	19. Chapter 19

Arthur carries her heavy suitcase, setting it carefully in the back of her tiny green Mini. As soon as they are inside, he reaches for her, his lips itching to feel hers against them once again.

She sighs, leaning into him, clutching his shoulders as she opens her mouth for him, meeting his searching tongue with hers.

They separate only for air, and Arthur leans his forehead against hers. "Never leave again. At least not without me," he whispers.

Gwen giggles, and pecks his lips. "I won't."

He wraps her in his arms, practically pulling her into his lap. "I missed you a ridiculous amount."

"Me, too."

He holds her another minute, hands stroking her back.

"Arthur, are we going to go home or just sit in the parking lot all day?"

"Oh. Sorry."

She laughs and he releases her to her own seat, starting the car.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks as he pulls her car onto the motorway.

"Yes, very much. Elyan has settled in very well there. I mean, except for the fact that he's living in the bloody hotel," she chuckles.

He reaches over for her hand, holding it in his lap, driving with one hand. "I can't wait to see your pictures. And get my present."

"Present? Did I bring you back a present?" she asks innocently.

"Guinevere, you already told me you bought me something, nice try."

"I got things for the lads, too, actually."

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know. I wanted to."

"Well, they'll love whatever you've gotten, I'm sure." He lifts her fingers to his lips and kisses them before releasing her hand again so that he can exit the motorway and downshift.

"What did you do while I was gone?" she asks.

"Absolutely nothing. I sat and stared at the wall and moped."

She laughs. "That's probably not far from the truth."

"I worked. I painted. Slept in your bed three or four times. And _no,_ I didn't _do_ anything that would require laundering your sheets."

Gwen laughs again, clapping her hand over her mouth. _Still not quite used to how casual he is about these things._

"And if I had done, I would have made sure they were clean before this morning anyway, I'll have you know," he declares, somewhat proudly.

She just chuckles and shakes her head. "What did you paint?"

"The two paintings of you. Finished the one, I think."

"You think?"

"I want you to take a look at it first."

"Later. My flat first. I want to take a shower. I feel all airplane-y."

"That sounds like fun."

"A shower by myself, you randy sod."

He pouts.

"If you're good, I'll let you repaint my toes."

His pout turns into a smile as he parks her car. "Home."

She sighs, and it turns into a yawn as she unbuckles her seat belt and opens the door, slinging her camera bag onto her shoulder. Arthur retrieves her suitcase and strides ahead to unlock the door for her.

He opens the door and she steps inside. "Ah, so nice to be back," she sighs, looking around. Her eyes fall on a vase filled with a dozen dark red roses sitting on her coffee table, and she turns and looks at him, her eyes soft and smiling. "Arthur…"

"Welcome home, Sweet," he says, grinning as he sets her suitcase down. She wraps her arms around him, squeezing him tightly, resting her head against his chest. His arms come around her, one on her back, the other gently holding her head as he leans down and kisses her hair.

Gwen pulls away from him, picks up her camera bag again, and heads for the bedroom, pausing to bend and bury her nose in the bouquet, inhaling their sweet smell. Arthur lifts the suitcase again and follows. She digs into the camera bag and pulls out a flat parcel in a brown paper bag, feeling it and peeking inside, checking it over for damage.

"Good," she declares quietly, then sets it down. Arthur is sitting beside the suitcase on the bed, giving her a puzzled but expectant look.

"Goodness, you're like a child. Here," she says, handing him the parcel.

He grins and slides what is undoubtedly a record out of the bag, looking at it. "Naked Raygun," he reads, flipping it over to inspect the back.

"They're a punk band from Chicago," she says, and a small smile creeps over his face.

"At the moment I'm mostly impressed that you got it back here intact," he says, absorbed in the liner notes on the back cover, reading the song list, the names of the band members.

"I honestly don't know if they're any good or not. Kyle said that—"

"Kyle?" he looks up, raising an eyebrow at her.

"The bloke at the shop. He recommended them," she says casually, opening the suitcase now.

"And how did you find this shop?" he asks, looking at the front of the album again.

"The concierge at the hotel was amazing. He knew _everything._ Monday night, while Elyan was working, I asked him if he knew of any record stores that would have a good selection of punk music, and he had a name for me immediately." She lifts a pile of neatly-folded clothes out of the suitcase and starts putting them away.

"Don't you need to wash those?"

"Elyan had me send them to the laundry yesterday. Actually was a really good idea. So now I only have a few things that can definitely wait until I don't feel like a zombie."

"That's right, it must be, what, nearly five a.m., according to your body?"

"Yeah, that's about right. But I really want to stay up as long as I can to try to get back on track. I'll see how long I last, though."

"Guinevere, you should rest."

"I didn't say I was going to go jogging or anything. I don't plan on leaving this flat at all today, in fact."

"Mmm, like the sound of that," he says, and Gwen throws something at his head. "Hey!" he declares, grabbing it. It is a red t-shirt with a large skull on the front. Underneath are a knife and fork, crossed where a pair of bones would be. Above the skull is the slogan _EAT THE RICH._

Arthur looks at it and laughs. "Is this for me?"

"Yes."

"It's fucking brilliant, I love it," he says, still laughing.

"I thought you might."

"Oh, and Elyan sent these for you," she pulls out a small flat box, which he snatches immediately, his sweet tooth like a radar.

"Petit fours, nice," he gazes down at them as if they were jewels. "Did he make these?"

"Of course he did. Try that one," she points to one. _He knew what they were immediately. Impressive._

He lifts the small cube of cake out of the box, chocolate covered, a ribbon of orange frosting decorating the top. Taking a bite, he closes his eyes, and says, "Bloody hell, I'm moving to Chicago and marrying your brother."

"Good, huh?" she laughs, sorting the other souvenirs from her clothes.

"Guinevere, 'good' doesn't even come close. Chocolate with orange is a very underrated flavor combination, and he's nailed it perfectly," he says, taking another bite.

 _Okay, he's not just a punk with a sweet tooth, he's a bloody gourmand,_ she realizes. "That's one of my favorites as well. And that cake is so…"

"Dense. Fudgy. It's excellent. I could sit here and eat this entire box, actually, but that would be a crime. These are to be savored."

"Glad you like them. He'll be thrilled. He made them special for you when I told him how much you like your sweeties."

He laughs, licking his fingers. "I'm surprised you got them through customs."

"Why do you think they were tucked smack in the middle of my suitcase, wrapped in a pair of my jeans?"

"Smuggler," he teases, closing the box and setting it on the bedside table, though not without a small longing gaze before leaning back against the headboard.

She finishes emptying the suitcase and tosses it on the floor, kicking it to the side. "I'll put that away later," she says, hands on her hips, surveying the items on the bed.

She scoops them all up and places them on her vanity, dismissing them with a wave of her hands. "Later."

"Come here," Arthur holds his hands out to her, and she complies, climbing onto the bed, into his lap, where he wraps his arms around her.

"Mmm, I missed this," she says, snuggling into him, sighing contentedly. He reaches down and tilts her chin up, gazing down at her a moment before his lips meet hers, soft and warm. Her eyes drift closed and her hands run up his chest to his shoulders as she opens her mouth, allowing his tongue to glide against hers. She feels herself being moved, turned onto her back as he leans over her, their lips never losing contact with each other.

"Oh, God, Guinevere, I missed you so much," Arthur whispers, finally lifting his lips from her to kiss his way along her neck, his hand brushing against her breast.

Gwen sighs and gently holds his head, smiling as he kisses her collarbone. He begins pulling at her shirt, and she drops her hand over his, stilling it.

"Arthur," she says, scooting upwards.

"Huh?" he remarks, confused.

"Later, darling. I want you, too, but right now, I want a shower more."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Got carried away."

"Don't pout," she says, seeing his disappointment.

"I'm not pouting."

"You most definitely are," she laughs at him, leaning over to kiss his forehead as she stands.

"Oh," she says, reaching up to unclasp the chain around her neck, "I should give this back to you…" She leaves the sentence hanging, not sure if he wants it back or not.

"Um, yes, if it's all right. It was my grandfather's, actually."

"Oh, then definitely you need it back," she says, holding the chain up and letting the ring drop into her hand. She takes his hand in hers, kissing his palm before sliding it over his thumb.

"It actually came from my mum," he mutters, "it was her father's."

"If I had known that, I wouldn't have taken it."

"I know. That's why I didn't tell you until now."

"I'm glad I had it, though," Gwen says, leaning down to kiss him again. "Whenever I missed you too much I would hold onto it. And then El would roll his eyes at me."

Arthur smiles at her and reaches for her hand, giving it a squeeze. She smiles back at him and turns towards the door, to her shower.

"Are you hungry?" he asks suddenly as he follows her out of the room.

"Yes, but I've got nothing to eat."

"Yes, you do. I went to the market yesterday. I'll cook some lunch for us while you shower."

Guinevere stops and turns, smiling at him. "Thank you, Arthur, that is incredibly sweet," she says, reaching up and kissing him again.

"I probably bought all the wrong things. And I should warn you I have a very limited repertoire of dishes."

"I can't wait," she says, blowing him a kiss before closing the bathroom door on him.

He stands in the hallway, debating. _No, leave her alone. She'll kill you. Besides, you promised lunch._

xXx

"I hope you like grilled cheese and scrambled eggs," Arthur greets her as she walks into the kitchen, dressed in one of her nighties, purple, her hair loose. "You look amazing."

"I told you I wasn't going anywhere," she says, amused at his assessment of her. "And grilled cheese and scrambled eggs sound wonderful." She sits at the table and he sets a plate in front of her.

"Thank you," she says, and he goes to the fridge for two bottles before sitting himself. He opens them both and hands her one. "Ah, scrambled eggs and beer," she chuckles. "Lovely."

"You're making fun of me now," he says, pouting again.

"I'm not!" she exclaims, laughing. "I promise."

"So tell me about your trip. The last postcard I got was from the amusement park."

"That was so much fun," she says, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Elyan dragged me on nearly every ride, and I didn't even get sick," she says.

"Good for you," he smiles, raising his bottle in a toast.

"Never been much of a thrill-seeker, but the roller coasters were really fun."

"Any place else interesting?"

"Oh, God, Elyan took me to a discotheque Thursday night," she says, rolling her eyes at the memory.

Arthur sets his fork down quite deliberately. "No."

" _Yes._ I swear if I hear one more man singing unnaturally high…"

He laughs. "So how horrible _was_ it?"

"You would have lost your bloody mind. For several reasons."

"Hmm?"

"First, the music was awful. And the clothes, ugh. And the men were all stupid. All of them. _All._ The women were just as bad, now that I think of it."

"Random Chicago wankers?" Arthur smiles, but she can see the concern in his eyes, the jealousy he is trying to keep in check.

"Definitely. And the dumbest thing? Most of them didn't believe that El and I were British. They thought we were faking the accents! Apparently quite a few Americans think that everyone from the UK is white!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up in frustration.

Arthur blinks a few times. "Wow."

"Elyan has learned to laugh at it, but I was flabbergasted that they were that… dumb. Narrow-minded, I guess is the word I'm looking for. Naïve, maybe?"

"I get what you're saying, Sweet."

"I didn't dance with anyone except my brother, just so you know," she says, "and he's bloody awful."

"But you had plenty of offers," he says, sure that she was probably pushing the men away with a stick.

"A few," she shrugs.

"Only a few? I don't know if I should be relieved or insulted," Arthur says, incredulous that people wouldn't think his Guinevere anything but mind-blowingly gorgeous. _They should have been lining up, vying for her attention. Wait, what the hell am I thinking here?_

She laughs. "I guess I don't quite fit the American standard of beauty. I don't look enough like one of those Barbie dolls, I guess. Though there was one guy that was very persistent. Elyan finally had to step in and tell him to get lost."

"Good."

"I told you he was protective as well."

"Good man, him. Done?" he asks, indicating her plate, where she has been poking at the remains of her eggs for a while now.

"Yes, thank you."

He clears the plates and actually washes up, telling her to go sit on the couch and relax.

"Oh, bugger, I forgot to call my dad!" she suddenly exclaims, reaching for the phone.

"Yeah, better do that before he sends out a search party," Arthur calls from the kitchen.

"Tom Degrance, please," Arthur hears Guinevere's voice as she rings her father at the Yard.

"Hi, Daddy… yes, I'm home safe."

"About an hour ago, sorry, I got all involved unpacking and showering that I forgot to call."

" _Yes,_ he was on time. He was waiting at the gate."

" _Yes,_ he carried my suitcase."

"Dad…"

She is quiet a minute, listening.

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm not going anywhere today. I'm already in my pajamas, in fact."

She makes an exasperated noise. "Of course. If you must know, he made me lunch and is currently doing the washing up as I relax on the sofa in front of the telly. Stop being such a bear."

"That's better. El sends his love. Did you know he's _living_ at that bloody hotel?"

"Oh. Well, I think it's bizarre. Yes, I've got your coffee. You'll get it tomorrow. Or Sunday."

"Okay. _Okay._ Get back to work. Surely there is someone you should be arresting right now."

"All right. Love you, too."

Arthur strolls into the living room and sits on the sofa beside Gwen. "He wants to see you?"

"Yeah, but he can wait. I am deadly serious about not leaving this flat today."

"I see that," he smirks at her.

"He just wants his stupid coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. Loves the stuff, and claims he can't get any good coffee here."

"Yech."

"I know," she says, leaning against a pillow at one end of the couch, swinging her feet into his lap.

"Ah, hello," Arthur says, lifting the appendages in his hands to kiss them. "You took the polish off already, I see."

"Before I showered," she says casually. _Because I knew you'd be wanting to insert them into your mouth at the earliest opportunity and you probably don't want them to taste like nail polish remover,_ she thinks.

He sets her feet down and wanders away for a moment, returning with her basket of polishes and a bottle of moisturizer.

"You really made yourself at home while I was gone, didn't you?" she observes, angling her head at him. "Because you certainly seem to know where everything is."

"I nosed around a little, yes," he says, ducking his head, blushing slightly.

Gwen just chuckles and settles back, staring at the mindless chat show currently on the television.

Arthur sits and pulls her feet back into his lap, lifting one to his lips, kissing her arch, her toes, her instep, rubbing with his thumbs. She feels the familiar warm wetness of his tongue and relaxes, eventually allowing her heavy eyelids to close, content.

xXx

Guinevere wakes to find her feet feeling fantastic, massaged and moisturized, nails painted a dark purple with pink polka dots. Arthur is sitting quietly at the other end of the sofa, doodling on a pad of paper he's found, paying no attention at all to the telly.

"What are you drawing?" she asks, stretching, her voice sleepy.

"You."

"Of course. Shit, how long was I sleeping?" She stretches her neck side to side, finding it stiff. _Ugh. My mouth feels like an armpit._

"Couple hours, I guess," he says, looking up at the clock. "Yeah, about that."

"I wish you hadn't let me sleep so long," she says.

"I was going to wake you pretty soon. You needed the rest," he smiles at her, flashing the drawing at her.

"I don't look that good while I'm sleeping, Arthur," she protests, sitting more upright.

"Yes, you do. I promise. Besides, how would you know?"

"Point taken." She stands and heads for the bathroom.

When she returns, bladder emptied and teeth brushed, Arthur remembers. "We met Freya. Merlin and I."

"Really? How did that happen?" Gwen says, sitting back down.

"Apparently she usually brings in your mail if you're out of town?"

"Oh, yeah. Not that I leave much, but she does have my spare key," she says. "Whoops."

"So we bumped into each other outside. She's very nice." He pulls her against him, wrapping his arms around her.

"Yeah, she's great."

"Merlin is in deep smit."

"Oh, really?" Gwen grins.

"It was so silly. They had the most inane conversation and you would have thought that they were solving the world's problems."

"Hmm. We'll have to give them an opportunity to continue their discussion, won't we?"

"Absolutely," he grins. "Do you like your toes?"

"Yes, they're very cute, thank you. So, um…"

"I wasn't molesting your feet while you were sleeping, no," he says, guessing.

"Ah."

"Guinevere, it's one thing to be a bit kinky, it's quite another to be a creepy perv. There is a very distinct line."

Gwen laughs now. "So, sucking on my toes while I sleep crosses that line, then."

"Yes. Besides, half the fun is your participation, Sweet." He leans over and tilts her face up to his, kissing her again, gently but ardently. Hopefully.

Gwen turns in his arms, shifting so she is in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing back hungrily. Arthur's hopes become reality when she tears her lips away and whispers in his ear, "Take me to the bedroom, Arthur."

Arthur doesn't need to be told a second time. Growling deliciously, he stands and lifts her all in one fluid motion, cradling her in his arms as if she were the most precious cargo.

 _Okay, that was impressive as hell,_ Gwen thinks as she is carried down the hall into her room, peppering wet kisses on his neck and jaw.

He drops to the bed, still holding her, his hand sliding up her thigh as he returns his lips to hers, nibbling and sucking at her lips greedily, leaving them both gasping for air.

Gwen grabs his shirt and, pulling away, yanks it over his head and throws it over her shoulder. Arthur laughs and moves over her, laying her back against the pillows, raking his eyes over her body in such a way that she can feel his gaze on her skin.

She stretches languidly, the hem of her nightie hitching up slightly as she does so, exposing more of her thighs and giving him the tiniest peek of her light blue knickers.

Arthur's eyes darken with desire and he drops over and beside her, reaching down to pull her nightie up further, his hand skimming over her panties, caressing her thighs as he feathers soft kisses on her cheek, her ear, her neck. She unconsciously parts her legs for him, and he slides his hand up her inner thigh, his large hand barely touching her soft skin. Gwen shivers as goosebumps rise on her leg, then she gasps as he places his hand firmly against her warm and now damp panties, pressing against her so that she arches back into his palm.

"I dreamt of you every night while you were gone," he says softly into her ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. "Your skin," he moves his hand again caressing the flat plane of her stomach, "your hair," he nuzzles his nose into her lilac-scented curls, splayed on the pillow, "your lips," he moves to kiss her lips, biting the lower one gently, "and… other things as well," he adds with a small smile, bringing his hand up to cup one of her breasts, teasing the nipple there, making it firmer, even more sensitive and stiff. "It was torture every night," he continues, still kissing and caressing.

 _I am losing my bloody mind,_ Gwen thinks, his seductive assault making her skin feel as though it is on fire and there is molten lava in her belly.

Arthur is unrelenting, hands exploring her body, lips making her skin tingle. "Yet all those dreams cannot compare to actually having you here," he kisses her lips, "actually being with you," again, "actually touching you, kissing you," another kiss, this one longer, deeper, "smelling you, tasting you," he finishes with another hungry kiss, passionate and fiery, but still somehow gentle and loving.

_How does he do this to me?_

"You'd think my imagination would be able to surpass reality," he continues, apparently not finished, "but it doesn't hold a candle." He lifts her shoulders and pulls her nightie off, tossing it aside with his discarded t-shirt. "You are so beautiful, Guinevere," he whispers, gazing down at her. She reaches for him, pulling him down over her, running her hands along his chest, down to the waist of his jeans, opening them.

Arthur groans and helps her remove his jeans, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Gwen laughs and grabs him, pulling him back to her.

"Well, that sort of killed the mood," he remarks with a chuckle.

"Oh?" Gwen asks, arching an eyebrow at him as she leans forward and kisses his neck, sucking at his skin slightly, biting it just as she runs a fingertip along the length of his shaft. He inhales sharply, "Oh, you…" he groans, his hands sliding down her torso to remove the last tiny stitch of clothing still between them. Her panties haven't even hit the floor before his lips are on hers again, then her neck, her throat, her breasts, his fingers finding her warm sensitive points below.

Arthur slides his fingers against her, slipping along her folds, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the front, sliding back to enter her. Gwen cries out softly, grasping his head, his shoulders, reaching down with one hand for him. His tongue flicks her nipple, suckling and biting gently.

"Arthur," she gasps, writhing slowly under his ministrations, "Oh, God…" Her hand squeezes his member reflexively, tightly, and he groans.

"Guinevere," he grunts her name into her breasts, kissing between them.

"Now, Arthur, please," she gasps, begging him, gently pulling him towards her, parting her legs further, sliding her thighs against his hips, enticing him into her.

"God, yes," he agrees throatily, thrusting his hips forward to slide into her, easing himself in as far as he can go and stilling, staying rooted within her as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his hips.

"Guinevere…" he starts, his voice trailing off before he can finish his thought. _I love you. I love you so much._

"Arthur," she whispers into his ear, kissing it sweetly, her lips making him tingle. _I love you with my entire being, Arthur._

Gwen eases her grip on Arthur and he starts to move, gathering her to him as he does so, kissing her gently, reverently. Her hands rove his back, his rear; his hands rove her breasts, her face, tangling in her hair.

His movements gradually pick up speed, but he is gentle, like the first time, swift but tender, building a crescendo within both of them as they move together as one being, connected physically and emotionally as they stare into one another's eyes, each lost to the other.

Arthur glides his hands up Gwen's arms, grasping her hands, threading his fingers through hers, together on either side of her head. Swifter still, he drives, dropping to kiss her lips, her chin, her eyelids, wherever his lips happen to land as the electricity between them builds and builds until they can almost see it in the air around them.

"Yes…"

"Oh…"

"God…"

"Oh…"

Guinevere cries out hoarsely, tightening her legs around him, gripping his hands in hers, just as Arthur shouts out and gives a final urgent thrust, deep within her, pressing his face into her neck.

He gradually relaxes over her, rolling them to the side, carefully disengaging himself from her before enfolding her in his arms again, stroking her back.

"I missed you so much, Arthur," she says. "And not just… _this,_ " she says, motioning to their naked bodies entwined on their bed. "I missed _you._ "

"Guinevere, I missed you to the point that Merlin had to bring me an entire bag of candy to keep me civil," he says, kissing the top of her head.

She laughs, and then he adds, "And he did that Thursday morning."

"This past Thursday?" she asks, somehow knowing the answer is no.

"No, the first day you were gone," he admits. "That bloke is a little scary sometimes."

"He's just known you a very long time," she says, still chuckling at him, leaning over to kiss his chest.

"Welcome home, Sweet," he says again, softly this time. He squeezes her in his arms, never wanting to let go.


	20. Chapter 20

The jarring noise of a ringing phone snaps Arthur and Gwen out of the silent study they are making of one another as they lie together on her bed, holding each other, caressing, kissing softly. Reacquainting.

Arthur groans in irritation while Gwen rolls to grab the phone.

"Hello?" she says, sitting up.

"Gwennie, you are home!" Freya's voice exclaims on the other end.

"Yes, I am. I was going to call you in a bit. I figured you'd be at work yet."

"I had a short day today," she explains, "and thank God for that. Bank was crazy today."

"Well, it is Friday. Oh!" Gwen feels herself pulled back down to lie beside Arthur, who spoons up behind her.

"What was that? Are you all right?" Freya asks.

"Nothing, I'm fine," Gwen answers, swatting Arthur's exploring hand away.

"Am I… _interrupting_ something?"

"No. I wouldn't have answered the phone if you were," she chuckles, once again removing Arthur's persistent hand.

"Right. But he's there, isn't he?" It's more of an accusation than a question.

"Yes. And he's actually being a right pain in the arse right now," she says, directing this last part over her shoulder. Arthur just winks at her.

Freya laughs. "Did he tell you that I met him and Merlin?"

"Yes, he did," Gwen says, biting her lip as she feels Arthur move her hair away from her neck, his lips making contact with the sensitive skin there.

"They were very nice. By the way, next time tell me if I don't need to collect your mail."

"Sorry. Nice, huh? Nothing… _more_ than nice?" Gwen asks, giving up on keeping Arthur's hands off of her. _Not working, anyway._ He is running his palm along her hip, around to her stomach, up to the bottoms of her breasts. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to concentrate on the conversation, but his persistent lips are still at her neck.

"Oh. Um. Yeah. So he spotted that Merlin and I seemed to be getting along quite well, then?"

"Yes. Said it was," she pauses a moment as his leg wraps around hers and his hand fully covers her breast, "pretty obvious that you two were attracted to each other." She can feel his hardness prodding her backside now.

"He was really cute. Merlin, I mean, but Arthur is quite handsome as well," she says, and Gwen can hear the smile in her voice.

"Arthur said that Merlin was quite taken with you, in fact," Gwen says as Arthur's lips travel over her shoulder.

"Yep," Arthur agrees between kisses.

"I heard that," Freya says. "Goodness, is he _right_ there?"

"Um, yeah."

"Are you naked?"

"Freya!" Gwen yells, and Arthur takes this opportunity to rub his thumb against her nipple, which tightens under his hand. She bites her lip again to keep from gasping.

"I'll take that as a yes. Call me later."

"Okay," Gwen says, and rolls away to hang up the phone again. She turns on Arthur. "You are evil."

Chuckling, he pulls her back against him, kissing her neck again, more passionately, the kisses firmer, wetter.

"You love it," he rumbles against her neck, at the spot where it meets her shoulder, biting gently as his hand travels down to touch her.

She exhales and her eyes drift close as his fingers make contact with her moist center, stroking gently, slipping inside once.

"See?" he mutters smugly.

"Oh! You…" she tries to argue, but his lips and his hand and his body behind her immediately erase any of the protesting words from her brain.

Arthur removes his leg from over hers and slides his hand down her thigh, pulling her knee up and back, bending it around, over his legs before reaching down and guiding himself into her as he lies behind her.

"Oh…" she moans as she feels him enter, his hand now sliding back up her thigh. He pulls back and thrusts forward again, slowly, languidly, kissing her neck again, her shoulder. Arthur's hand returns to pleasure her while he thrusts, and her head drops back against his shoulder, gasping.

Arthur's other hand, pinned beneath her, reaches up, tilting her face so he can reach her and kiss her lips, already parted and seeking him out. His tongue delves into the warmth of her mouth in time with his thrusts below. Gwen's hand gropes behind her, reaching for him. She finds his bum and grips it, pushing, urging him faster, harder.

"Arthur…" she groans, wanting more. Arthur's lips curl into a grin against hers as he stubbornly keeps his slow pace, tormenting both of them.

He pulls his lips away for just a moment. "We have all day, Guinevere," he purrs, flicking his tongue out, licking her upper lip just lightly before moving to nibble her ear.

His fingers continue to rub and stroke her firm nub, pushing her closer to the edge, the sensations flooding her, his leisurely yet passionate lovemaking unraveling her completely.

Gwen's body is quivering in front of him, her breath coming in short bursts, her nails digging into his buttocks. Arthur continues his steady pace, chuckling quietly, closing his eyes now as he feels himself approaching his own precipice.

He keeps his deliberate pace, stubbornly drawing it out, relishing every millimeter of contact as he slides himself back and forth.

"Guinevere," he says her name low in her ear, his fingers making her insides flip, his voice turning them to water.

She gasps a few more times, then suddenly shouts out, "Oh!" and her whole body jerks against him as she comes crashing down.

Arthur continues unabated, his hand moving now to wrap around her waist before creeping up to gently hold a breast, thumb stroking the taut nipple, kissing her neck, holding her lovingly, securely as she recovers.

"Oh…" he groans, losing control of his careful pace. "Fuck," he quietly grunts, and suddenly he is moving faster, harder, plunging deep into her, finally reaching his own completion. His grip tightens around her and his face is pressed against the back of her neck, buried in her hair.

After a few moments, he relaxes, leaning back slightly, relaxing his hold on her.

"Oh, God…" she breathes, her hand releasing his backside to rest across her forehead.

"Yeah…" he agrees, his hand idly caressing her stomach.

Gwen carefully turns around in his arms so that she is facing him again, and leans up to kiss him.

"You are amazing," he tells her, kissing the end of her nose.

"Me? I didn't even do anything," she protests, giggling.

"You don't have to do anything to be amazing, Sweet. You just are."

xXx

"Iggy!" Gwen exclaims as they enter Arthur's flat the next day. The fat orange ball of fur bounds towards her, winding around her ankles, his purring reaching a ridiculous level.

Gwen crouches down and scratches his ears, rubs his chest, and kisses the top of his large head. "I bought you a pressie in Chicago, baby, yes, I did," she coos to him as he butts his head against her hand, wanting more affection.

"He's demanding today. Apparently he thinks you owe him for having been gone," Arthur assesses, shaking his head at the two of them.

"Come," Gwen says to Iggy, and she stands and walks to the couch. Arthur stares, dumbfounded, as his bastard feline obediently follows her, hopping up onto the cushion beside her, sitting politely, waiting.

"What, suddenly you're a Labrador?" Arthur asks the cat. Iggy ignores him, his attention on Gwen, who is digging into her bag.

Arthur sits in a chair, wondering what she's gotten for Iggy. She pulls out a black cat collar, leather with silver studs, not unlike the belt Arthur often wears.

"He doesn't like collars," Arthur says, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he knows she's going to prove him wrong. Again.

"Yes, but _look._ " she holds up the collar to show him a silver tag hanging from it. It is shaped like a skull and has the name _Iggy_ engraved on the back.

"Where the bloody hell did you find _that?_ "

"Chicago," she deadpans, giving him a sideways look. She shows it to Iggy, and he meows, so she fastens it around his neck, muttering, "I'm glad I got the large."

"There. Now who's a handsome boy?" she asks, and Iggy actually preens, sitting taller, prouder. Arthur swears the cat gives him a haughty look. _You don't buy me nice things, jerk._

"Fucking cat," he mutters, standing up. "Cool collar, though, Guinevere."

She laughs as Iggy leaps down from the couch, trots across the room, and proceeds to follow his path of elevated items that leads to his window ledge, where he settles in contentedly.

"So let me see this painting," Gwen says, standing and heading towards his easel.

He's got the first painting resting there now, the one he started from memory. It's about 75% done; Gwen can really recognize a lot of the details and nuances he's added.

"Wow," she says, staring.

"Here," Arthur removes the painting and puts the other one up, the one of her back.

"Oh, my…" her voice trails off. _That is not me. There's no way that's me. It's too gorgeous._

He's gone with the dewy morning garden, as Gwen suggested, so it appears that she is gazing out a window just after waking, taking in the glint of the sun on the plants outside, still damp from the previous night. She can almost feel the warmth of the sun.

"What do you think?" he asks, almost a whisper.

"It's… sublime, Arthur. Amazing. I… don't have a word for how wonderful it is."

"I think it's my favorite thing I've ever done."

She turns and looks at him, and finds that he's not even looking at the painting; he's looking at her. "What are you going to do with it?" _Don't put it in the closed with the others._

"I might frame it and hang it. In my bedroom."

"Well, of course," she teases, looking away.

"What's wrong?" he asks, raising his hand to her face, gently turning it back to him.

"Nothing. The painting is fabulous, Arthur, it really is. I love it."

"But you still don't think that's what you look like," he says, looking down at her.

 _He is too smart,_ she thinks, pressing her lips together.

"How much convincing do you need, Guinevere?" he asks, pulling her into his arms. "Surely you don't think you are unattractive."

"I'm… fair," she allows. He raises his eyebrows at her. "Honestly, Arthur, am I supposed to go around thinking I'm gorgeous? Those kinds of people are irritating and tiresome to be around."

"Yes, but you must be able to accept that _other_ people, like me," he smiles at her, stroking her cheek, "think you are the most beautiful creature to walk the earth."

"That's a bit of an overstatement, Arthur," she says, blushing.

"Not to me, it isn't," he says, bending to briefly kiss her.

She sighs, dropping her head against his chest. "I know you think I'm beautiful."

"Yes, I do. And so does Merlin, and Leon, and Ox, and Gwaine."

"Especially Gwaine," she laughs.

"Yes, let's not talk about him."

She laughs more.

"I warned you that you were going to be my new favorite subject. So get used to admiration." He pecks her lips.

"Not likely, but I'll try."

"Good enough. Now. What time are we meeting your dad?" he asks, releasing her from his arms.

"12:30. So put on a clean shirt or something. _Not_ the one I just gave you," she warns, knowing that he would very likely do just that.

"Aw…" he moans, heading to his room.

xXx

"Let's _go,_ get the molasses out of your trousers," Gwen calls, impatiently tapping her foot.

"What's the rush?" he answers, strolling out.

"You will gain a lot of points with my father if we are punctual. Or better still, early. So let's go."

"All right, all right, I'm ready."

He drives them in her Mini to a nearby café, and Gwen smiles smugly when she sees that they've arrived before her father. They wait outside, enjoying the warm sunshine. She leans against Arthur, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her forehead.

Gwen sighs, realizing that she's happier than she has been in a long time. _Not that I was unhappy, but now it's like Arthur has filled a missing piece of me that I didn't even know was absent._

"What are you thinking about, Sweet?" he asks.

"That I'm happy," she answers, looking up at him and kissing his chin.

"Well, that's good news," he smiles. "And I'm glad, because I'm happy, too." He drops his head and kisses her, sweetly, softly.

"Hey, they have laws about public indecency, you know," Gwen's father's booming voice interrupts them and Arthur releases her, blushing only because he was caught by her dad.

Gwen laughs, though, saying, "We weren't doing anything indecent, Dad. And hello." She walks to him and gives him a hug and offers her cheek, which he kisses.

"Hello, Gwennie," he says warmly, smiling at his daughter. "Pendragon," he nods in Arthur's direction.

"Afternoon, sir," Arthur politely says.

Gwen sighs. "Dad, be nice," she mutters, then, "Okay, who's hungry? I know I am." With that, she strides forward and into the café. The two men look at each other and follow her inside.

They are seated at a table near the window, Gwen between the two men. _Dad is still being a papa bear, so I'd best separate them for now,_ she thinks, glancing at her father, then Arthur, who smiles reassuringly at her. She touches his leg with her foot under the table.

"Oh, before I forget," Gwen says, plunking down a bag containing her father's coffee.

Tom digs into the bag and pulls out a vacuum-sealed pack of coffee beans. He presses his nose to it and inhales. "Ahh…" he sighs. "Thank you, Gwen."

"So can I ask what is so special about that coffee? I'm curious," Arthur asks, looking up from his menu.

"It's just better. Stronger. I get so bloody sick of tea sometimes. I went to Chicago with Elyan when he moved there, and this doughnut shop had excellent coffee, and they actually sell it there, like this," he holds up the pack, "so I bought a bunch. I have to grind the beans myself, but it's definitely worth it."

 _I think that's the most I've heard him say in one go,_ Arthur realizes. "How do you grind them?" he asks, leaning forward in his chair.

"I had to buy a little machine to do it. Bought it there, actually, so I have to use an adaptor to plug it in here," he chuckles.

Gwen smiles behind her menu as Arthur charms her father, asking him questions, engaging him in simple conversation that draws the reticent man out of his protective armor a bit.

"Your friend Oxley is doing quite well at the Yard," Tom comments while they eat their lunches.

"Good to know. Haven't seen much of him lately, he's so busy now with his training, and when he's not there, he's home studying."

Tom snorts. "Studying? He already knows all the materials, what could he possibly be studying?"

"He does, really?" Gwen asks, spearing some salad and popping it in her mouth.

"Yeah, since you told me about him, I've kind of made it my business to follow his progress. You know, to make sure I'd made a good investment, kind of thing."

"Right."

"Sanders tells me that Oxley is always the first to volunteer, the first with his hand up to answer. Even for tear gas training, he got stuck right in."

"Tear gas?" Arthur asks.

"They have to go in a closed room while tear gas gets pumped in," Gwen explains. "It sounds horrid."

"Part of the training is to know the weapons, the, um, tools of the trade. And that means experiencing some unpleasantness from time to time," Tom shrugs.

"Do you have to get shot as well?" Arthur asks.

 _Oh, no,_ Gwen thinks, worried that her father will not take his joke at face value.

Luckily, Tom laughs, and says, "No, no, but the hand-to-hand training can get a little rough sometimes."

"Pity whoever gets partnered up with Ox," Arthur comments, smirking at his chip before biting half of it off.

"Lad will definitely graduate with honors. Top of the class already."

Gwen smiles, pleased.

"He was born for the work, sir, trust me," Arthur says, nodding at him.

"I'm inclined to agree, Pendragon."

They finish their lunches, and Guinevere has finally relaxed, as her father and Arthur seem to be getting on quite well now. They've discovered that they both love football and Tom has a secret penchant for sweets as well.

"So. How long do you plan on tattooing people for a living?" Tom asks, serious again.

"Dad…"

"I'm sorry, Gwen, but I need to ask."

"No, he's right to do so," Arthur allows. "And I plan on being in the tattoo business only as long as I must, and no more."

"Which means what, exactly?"

"Honestly, I haven't quite figured that out yet. I'm sure Guinevere has told you that I am an artist, and I only do the tattooing to pay the bills. It's honest work, sir, and while it's neither glamorous nor particularly rewarding, I am good at it and it beats being on the dole."

_Point, Arthur._

"True. Though, and understand I'm only questioning because I love my daughter, have you thought about your future? Where are you _going_ with your life?"

"Dad, enough," Gwen says. "You don't need to grill him." _We've only been going out a little over a month, it's not like he's asking for my hand._

"It's all right, Sweet," Arthur says, taking her hand in his. "Ideally I'd like my art to be recognized. Sold. _Seen._ I realize that may be a pipe dream, but… well, perhaps one day I could take in students or something. I was reading something about Graphic Design recently, you know, like adverts and the like? Basically, I just have to decide, I guess."

Tom studies him. "Perhaps you should give it some thought," he says, somewhat cryptically.

_Point, Dad._

"Yes, sir. I am an adult, I know, and at some point I should behave like one."

"Indeed. But… just not all the time," Tom answers, allowing a small smile.

Arthur laughs, "Perhaps I just need someone to come along and give me a swift kick in the arse to get me to start thinking."

"Let me go get my steel-toed boots," Tom says, making as if to stand.

Gwen laughs now, putting her hand on her father's arm. "Dad!"

"Don't worry, Gwennie, I think Pendragon and I understand each other."

"Yes, sir," Arthur says, nodding at the older man. _Is it possible that he can see how completely head over heels I am for his daughter?_

"One more question," Tom says, taking a drink as the waiter brings the check. Tom grabs it immediately, noting that Arthur did reach for it as well.

"Daddy…"

"It's been my experience that blokes that do tattooing for a living usually are covered with them."

"Ah. I have one," Arthur says, answering the question before it is actually asked.

"One?"

"It's a large one, but yes, just the one."

Tom angles his head, looking, trying to spot it.

"It's here," Arthur points, "on my shoulder. And chest. And some of my back. I'd show you, but they'd boot me from the restaurant for taking my shirt off," he laughs.

"What is it?"

"A big dragon."

"It's really beautiful, Dad," Gwen says.

"Hmm. 'Beautiful' isn't usually a word I equate with tattoos," Tom says, skeptical.

"You haven't seen it. It's his own design," Gwen says.

"So, you don't have a problem with tattoos in general, just not as a career option, is that correct?" Arthur asks.

"Basically. As a cop, tattoos are very helpful things. Identifying marks and all that. Good for ID-ing a criminal. Or a body. Like if someone were to, say, lop your head off and separate it from your body, your headless corpse could be identified by that large tattoo on your shoulder, there."

"Ugh," Gwen makes a face.

"Sorry," he apologizes to his daughter. "You think she'd be used to it by now. It's not like I haven't been a policeman her whole life," he chuckles.

Arthur laughs as well. "It was probably the use of the phrase 'headless corpse' that did it."

"Don't help," Gwen says, looking sideways at Arthur.

Tom pays the waiter and they stand to leave.

"Thank you for lunch, Mr. Degrance," Arthur says, offering his hand.

"You're welcome, Pendragon," he says, shaking the young man's hand.

"Yes, thanks, Dad. El sends his love, by the way."

"Yeah, I called him yesterday to tell him you were home safe. So I talked to him already," he grins at her.

"Figures," she rolls her eyes.

They walk outside and Gwen hugs her father again.

"What are you up to the rest of the day?" he asks.

"Not much. I'm still pretty jetlagged, so I may just lounge around with Arthur's gigantic ginger cat while he paints or something."

"I'd like to see some of your work sometime," Tom says to Arthur. "I know exactly nothing about art, mind, but my curiosity is piqued now."

"I'd like that, actually. I've been working on one of Guinevere, actually," he says.

"Fully clothed," Gwen adds quickly, glancing at Arthur. _Don't say anything about the one you just finished._

"Oh really?"

"Yes, she's a fascinating subject to paint. Very beautiful. Unique."

Tom smiles. "I definitely agree there, but of course I would, wouldn't I?"

"Certainly hope so," Arthur grins.

"All right, it's hot out here and I would like a nap," she says, taking Arthur's hand. "Goodbye, Daddy."

"Goodbye, Gwennie. Oh, and Gwen?"

"Yes?" she turns back.

"You had better not get any tattoos."

"Dad…" she scowls at him.

"I basically told her the same thing, sir," Arthur chimes in.

"Suck up," Gwen mutters to him as they walk to the car.

"Hey, he's liking me now, I'm not losing that," he says back, squeezing her hand.


	21. Chapter 21

"Let's see if these guys are any good, shall we?" Arthur asks, sliding his new record from its cardboard jacket and paper sleeve, spinning it between his palms as he walks to the stereo. "Not too loud, though, I'm trying to rest," Gwen says from her place curled on the couch. Arthur's brought her a blanket and a decent pillow, and Iggy has curled himself behind her bent knees.

"Of course not. The bloke upstairs hates it when I play my music too loud anyway," he says, fitting the record on the spindle and dropping the needle at the edge.

"So I presume that means you play records at full volume as often as possible, then?" she asks, her eyes closed now.

"Naturally."

The music comes forth, and while Gwen doesn't yet have as deep an appreciation for this particular genre, she can already tell that it was a worthwhile purchase. _They're good._

She smiles as she feels his soft lips press her forehead, then her cheek, as he walks back to his easel, muttering something about his cat being lucky.

_The buildings are tall around me. It's warm and humid, but an occasional cool breeze blows my hair from my shoulders, whips the skirt around my legs._

_I'm back in Chicago, walking downtown, on Michigan Avenue. People walk around me, going about their busy lives, paying us no heed whatsoever. Across the street I see a pink and green zebra trotting down the sidewalk. A garden gnome carrying a tiny briefcase strides past, muttering a tiny "Excuse me," as he passes._

_"Guinevere, look at that," Arthur says, pointing. I follow his finger and see Buckingham Fountain straight ahead in the park. I look at Arthur, and he is my same Arthur, just with no Mohawk, no nose ring, no earrings. Ridiculously handsome with his golden hair falling across his forehead, glinting in the sun._

_"Let's go," I say, smiling at him, squeezing his large hand in mine. We wait at the corner for the traffic light to change. The cars speed by us, honking, bumper to bumper. A maharaja passes, reading a newspaper and riding an elephant. People yell, police sirens blare in the distance._

_"I like it here. It's so busy," Arthur says, leaning down to kiss my cheek._

_"I think it would wear on me after a while. I like a bit of quiet, you know."_

_The light changes, and we hurry across the street, knowing we don't have a lot of time. Sure enough, the signal starts to flash before we're already across._

_"Is that the lake?" he asks me, pointing again._

_"No, it's the Atlantic Ocean. Of course it's the lake, silly," I say, giggling at him as he scowls at me._

_"Okay, yeah, I suppose that was a stupid question. Come on, let's go check out the fountain." He pulls my hand and starts heading towards the fountain. "Which lake is that again?"_

_"Lake Michigan," I say, looking over at its vast bright blue surface, shimmering in the sun. As we approach the fountain, it starts snowing, but the weather is still warm, so we don't mind._

_We sit on the edge of the fountain, enjoying the snow, watching it float around us, landing on the roses, the palm trees, the cacti._

_I watch Arthur again, marveling at his appearance. He is always devastatingly handsome, but it amazes me that he can look just as wonderful yet so completely different._

_"I love you, Guinevere," he suddenly says, taking my hands in his, lifting them to his lips to kiss my fingers._

_"Oh, Arthur, I've been waiting to hear those words. I love you, too, so much it hurts sometimes," I say. I can feel the tears pricking my eyes as I beam at him, my heart filling to the point that I feel as thought it may burst from my chest._

_He leans forward to capture my lips with his, and I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, parting my lips for him, meeting his tongue with mine. I feel him leaning over me, laying me back into the fountain, but instead of getting soaked, we float in the surprisingly warm water, completely dry._

_The fountain cradles us, secludes us from the world, as we pass under its spray into its center, where Arthur continues to kiss me, trailing his lips to my neck, his fingers reaching to the strap of my sundress. He slides it down over my shoulder and the dress disappears completely._

_Both naked, inside the fountain, he caresses my skin, kisses my breasts, whispering how much he loves me all the while. I float in the water, my hands in his hair, holding his head, guiding it where I want him to go._

_I close my eyes for a moment and just feel. His full lips. His amazingly beautiful hands. His tongue. His erect member. The light hair of his chest._

_When I open my eyes, it is night and we are in some impossibly soft grass now, under the stars. The waves on the nearby lake crash against the rocks below, the soft rhythmic roar reaching our ears._

_It feels like Arthur is all around me, enveloping me, and I feel loved; safe. Secure. A full moon shines down on us now, soft and orange, as we make love in the park, his shaft sliding into me as if it belongs there, as if we are two halves of one whole._

_"Arthur…" I breathe his name, wrapping myself around him. The sound of the waves serenades our love, birds join in as well, along with a peculiar ringing sound…_

"Bloody fucking hell," Arthur grumbles, stomping to the phone. "What?" he crossly says into the receiver, glancing back at Gwen as she blinks her eyes open, looking around the flat, appearing slightly confused.

"Good afternoon to you as well, your bloody highness," Merlin's sarcastic voice answers back at him.

"Guinevere was sleeping, dipshit," Arthur says, still grumbling. _And I was having a wonderful time watching her._

"Oh, sorry. The lads and I are wondering if you two were going to come up for air at some point."

"We went out for lunch with her dad," Arthur says. "So we've been out."

"Oho, lunch with Daddy, eh? Is he still giving you the business?"

"I'm starting to win him over." He looks back at Gwen, who is now sitting up and petting Iggy. She smiles at him and he blows her a kiss.

"Good. Now. Haul your sorry backsides out to the pub and have dinner with us."

"Guinevere, Merlin wants us to come to the pub for dinner," Arthur says to her.

"Sure, I can give them their souvenirs," she says. Arthur scowls, and she chuckles. _Clearly he didn't want to go. Now what the hell was I dreaming about?_

"I guess we're coming," Arthur tells Merlin.

"Don't put yourself out or anything, Drag," Merlin says.

"Shut it. Guinevere has presents for you blokes, though I can't imagine what you did to deserve anything."

"She didn't have to do that!"

"That's what I told her."

"Good thing she doesn't listen to you."

"See you later," Arthur says, ignoring him.

"Later, Dungbrain."

Arthur hangs up the phone and switches the record off. "What on earth were you dreaming about?" he asks.

"It's a little fuzzy now," she says, pulling the elastic band holding her hair back and running her fingers through it, her face puzzling.

"It was, um, _quite_ entertaining to watch," he says, walking over to join her on the couch. "Down," he tells Iggy, and the cat hops off the couch flicking his tail in Arthur's face as he does so.

Gwen laughs, and Arthur says, "He does that on purpose."

"Of course he does."

"So…" he prompts.

"I'm trying to remember. It was kind of… weird."

"Weird? It didn't look weird. It looked… erotic."

"Oh! Um, yeah," she thinks, realizing that she is still quite warm and parts of her are rather tingly as well. _Oh God, did I say anything? Was I moaning?_ "It was that, too, I think. It must have been…" she trails off as Arthur's eyes rake over her face, pausing at her chest, down, then back up again.

 _She definitely looks aroused. Like when are…_ "Yes," Arthur agrees, his voice cracking a little. He leans over to kiss her neck, her throat.

"We were in Chicago," she suddenly remembers. "But strange things kept happening."

"Oh?" he asks, his hand starting to explore.

"Yeah. There was a… a zebra? It was the wrong colors, though. And a talking garden gnome with a briefcase."

"What?" he pulls away, laughing now.

"It was summer, but it started snowing. And there were cacti in the park. And palm trees. Neither of which grow in Chicago."

"Anything else?"

"We were making love in a fountain," she remembers, eyes widening.

"Kinky," he grins, nibbling her ear now.

"No, no, it wasn't like that at all. People weren't _watching_ us or anything."

"Not even the business gnome?"

She laughs now. "No, not even him."

"Always thought those little buggers were suspicious. Little perverts, probably."

Gwen laughs harder now, pushing him away. "Now I know what to get you for Christmas," she teases.

Arthur leans back in, ever persistent, and kisses her lips.

 _He told me he loved me,_ she remembers. Her eyes fly open and she gasps.

"What? Did you remember something else?"

"Um, no. I just… my mouth is all nasty from sleeping," she hurriedly says, grabbing the nearest excuse.

"I don't really care," he says, leaning back in.

"Well I do. Plus I have to pee. What time are we going to the pub?" she asks, standing.

"Whenever you'd like, I guess."

"Well, let me freshen up a bit and we can go." With that, she disappears to the bathroom, leaving a very confused and slightly frustrated Arthur sitting on the couch.

_What else was in that dream?_

xXx

"Gwen!" Merlin exclaims as they walk into the dimness of the pub, scurrying out from behind the bar to give her a hug.

"Hello Merlin, it's good to see you, too," she laughs, hugging him back tightly.

As if on cue, Gwaine and Ox walk in, and Leon emerges from the back of the pub, wearing an apron.

"Sparrow!" Gwaine exclaims, striding up to her and pulling her body flush against his. "Welcome home," he says, his voice low and soft, and he leans in to kiss her when Arthur clears his throat loudly. By now Gwen is laughing too hard anyway, so Gwaine just kisses her cheek and hands her over to Ox, who, as usual, hugs her by lifting her off her feet.

"Ox, it's good to see you," she says, smiling up at him as Leon strides over her, giving her a quick hug, careful to not get any grease from his apron on her. "Hi, Leon, what's on the menu tonight?"

"Going simple tonight. Burgers and chips."

"Sounds delicious."

"Leon makes the chips himself, too. Chops up the potatoes and everything," Merlin says as Leon heads back.

"Don't hurry off, Leon, I have something for you," Gwen calls back.

"You didn't need to bring me anything," he says, pausing.

"Well, I have souvenirs for all of you, and I don't want to hear another word about it."

"Sparrow, your returning so that Drag stops acting a royal twat is present enough," Gwaine says, and they all laugh. Except Arthur.

"Okay, okay," Gwen says, sitting at the bar, setting her bag on the top. Merlin sets pints down for her and Arthur.

"Leon, I'll do yours first so you can get back," she says, handing him a flat paper bag.

"Feels like a book," he says, sliding it out. It is a cookbook called _Chicago Cuisine,_ which he immediately opens, flipping through the pages, eyes alight, looking at the pictures, muttering to himself.

"He likes it," Merlin chuckles, shoving him on the shoulder. "Hey."

"Oh. Thanks, Gwen, this is brilliant. I love it. Will have to try some of these this week," he says, grinning like a giddy child.

"I'm glad. I thought you would enjoy it. Now, Ox, my dear," she gives him a bag containing something soft and floppy.

"What on earth could this be?" he wonders, and pulls out a t-shirt that says _Chicago Police Department_ across the front. "Oh, wow. The lads at the Yard will be so jealous," he grins.

"Except my dad, he has one similar," Gwen laughs, "but not exactly the same."

"Well, that's good. Wouldn't want people mixing us up, now," he says, eyes twinkling.

"Yes, there's certainly a danger of that," Arthur says, as they all laugh.

"Ox!" Merlin exclaims as the large man peels off his current shirt and puts the new one on.

"Fits. Would you be terribly offended if…"

"If you cut the sleeves off?" Gwen finishes. "Be my guest. It's your shirt. I'm glad it fits; I kind of had to guess. My brother is nowhere near your size, so I couldn't even use him to compare."

Ox peels the shirt off again and puts the other one back on, presumably so he can make the necessary alterations before he actually wears the thing.

"Gwaine," she says and hands him a wad of tissue paper wrapped around something hard.

"Hmm," he says, peeling back the layers of tissue to reveal a shot glass with the Sears Tower on it. "Perfect."

"A shot glass with a phallic symbol on it. Yes, that is quite perfect," Arthur laughs.

Gwaine sets the glass on the bar with a bang. "Fill me up, my good man," he declares. Merlin takes the glass from him and washes it first before pouring out a measure of whiskey for him. He lifts the glass to Gwen in a toast, then knocks it back. "And it works," he declares.

"Finally, Merlin. You were kind of difficult, actually," she says, handing him another wad of tissue, this one larger, heavier.

"Hmm, what could this be?" he asks, unwrapping it. He holds up a glass globe on a black base, filled with water and containing a miniature of downtown Chicago. But instead of fake snow inside, when he turns it, iridescent glitter swirls and floats, shimmering over the buildings. "Cool," he breathes, staring at it.

"Do you like it?" she asks, biting her lip.

He looks up. "I love it, thank you, Gwen." He smiles his crooked smile at her.

"I'm so glad. I really was stumped for yours," she says, watching him as he turns the globe again, smiling as his bright blue eyes track the glitter as it moves.

"It's perfect," he says.

"They had a kind with snow, but somehow the glitter seemed more interesting. Better." _More magical, like your story._

"Definitely," he says, turning it yet again.

They all chorus various thank-yous to her, and she smiles and waves them off. "It was nothing, really. Gwaine, is your sister around? I have something for her as well."

He looks at her. "You bought something for Phil?"

"Well, of course."

Merlin is already on the phone, ringing the flat she shares with Gwaine next door, above the shop. "Hey, Phil, it's Merlin. Sorry to bother you, but could you come down to the pub for a minute?"

He pauses, and looks up to see all eyes on him.

"Um, Gwen is back and she has a souvenir for you."

"No, I don't know what it bloody is. Just please come down, okay?"

He hangs up the phone with a sigh, and looks at Gwen. "You're lucky she likes you."

A few minutes later she comes through the door, and Justin, the new bouncer, gives her a rather appraising look as she passes him, causing Gwaine to chuckle fiendishly and the rest of the lads to wince sympathetically.

"Poor ignorant sod," Ox mutters quietly, and Gwen punches his arm. "Is there a mosquito in here? I think I just felt something tiny brush my arm," he asks the group, looking around. Gwen laughs and then heads over to Phil.

"Welcome home, Girlie," Phil greets her, and Gwen carefully hugs the other woman, knowing it may be rebuffed. _What is it with their family and names, anyway? Gwaine calls me 'Sparrow' and Phil apparently has settled on 'Girlie.' Oh well, could be worse,_ Much to everyone's surprise, Phil pats Gwen's back once, quickly but kindly, before Gwen backs away and hands her a small box.

"I saw these and knew I had to get them for you," Gwen says.

"Oh, really?" Phil says, suspicious, taking the box. She opens it, and suddenly there are five pairs of male eyes (Leon has emerged from the kitchen once again) looming over the two small females, nosy as a cluster of old hens.

Phil laughs, withdrawing a pair of earrings shaped like tiny Tommy guns from the box. "These are fucking great," she declares, immediately pulling her own silver hoops out and replacing them with the machine guns.

"I'm so glad you like them," Gwen smiles, relieved.

"Where the hell did you find those?" Gwaine asks, and Gwen gets the impression that he was wishing she'd brought him a pair.

"At the same place I got the album I got Drag and the collar I got Iggy, actually," she says. "It was technically a record store, but it was more of a… punk emporium. You blokes would have loved it."

"You got Iggy a collar?" Leon finally asks, breaking the silence.

" _That's_ the tidbit you choose to grab?" Gwen asks. "Yes, I got Iggy an amazing collar, and he loves it."

"But only because _she_ gave it to him," Arthur chimes in. "It's actually a very cool collar. It looks like this," he points to his belt, "and the tag is shaped like a skull. She even had his name engraved on the back."

They are still staring at Gwen. Gwaine looks at Arthur. "You're sure it's your cat?"

"Quite sure. He still treats me like I'm a squatter in _his_ flat."

"Right, fair enough. Leon, where's the grub, mate?"

"One minute, just toasting the rolls," he says, heading back to the kitchen, grabbing Merlin around the shoulders as he goes. He pokes his head back out the door and calls, "Phyllis, fancy a burger?"

They all turn and look at Phil, who pauses a moment before shrugging and saying, "Yeah, all right."

Leon grins and his curly head disappears again behind the door.

The group moves from the bar and pushes a few tables together, sitting. "So, tell us about Chicago, Gwen," Ox says, leaning forward.

"I'd better wait till Merlin and Leon come back out or they'll kill me. I've brought photos."

"Excellent," Gwaine declares, standing and taking his shot glass to the bar again, hopping up and laying across it to pour himself another measure of whiskey.

"Leon's going to kick your backside," Phil comments from her place beside Gwen, not even turning around to see what he's doing.

"Not if he doesn't find out," Gwaine says, but as soon as he lifts the glass to his lips, Leon and Merlin emerge, laden with food.

"You're paying for that one, Mick," Leon says, eyeing him as the two men walk out from behind the bar to the tables.

"Yeah, yeah, put it on my tab," Gwaine says dismissively, sauntering back to the table, but instead of sitting back beside his sister, he plunks down between Ox and Merlin, so that the only available seat for Leon is next to Phil.

 _Am I missing something?_ Gwen thinks as she sees Merlin and Gwaine biting back their smirks. She looks at Arthur, who just nods slightly before he leans over and kisses her cheek.

"So let's see this brother of yours," Phil declares as they all dig in to their food, passing around condiments and napkins.

"Mmm, hang on," Gwen says, wiping her hands after popping a chip into her mouth. "Oh my God, Leon, these are fabulous."

"Thanks. My gran taught me everything I know about food, actually."

"Well, your gran is to be commended. Here," she says, handing the first picture to Phil. It's of Elyan, next to a large planter overflowing with petunias outside the hotel.

"Ooo, he's cute," Phil declares, much to all the lads' surprise. "Not very tall, though, is he?"

"No one in my family is tall," Gwen says with a sigh.

"Yeah, her dad is, um, stocky. Powerfully built. But tall? No," Percival says, taking a bite that effectively removes a full third of his burger in one go.

"You have the same eyes," she says, passing the picture on to Leon, who takes it gently, carefully, his eyes lingering on Phil for just a fraction longer than they should, and Gwen catches it this time.

_Aha. Wonder how long he's been pining. Wonder if she even knows?_

Gwen takes a bite of her burger and then hands the next picture to Phil. "Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park. Nothing to do with the palace. I asked," she chuckles, glancing at Arthur for just a brief moment, remembering her strange dream. He catches her eye and gives her a look that seems to say _fountain, hey?_ She blushes and moves to the next photo.

"Lake Michigan. Very cold. El warned me, but I had to dip a toe in anyway. Just about froze my foot off! And yet there were people swimming in it. It was like an ice bath!"

She continues alternating eating with handing out pictures, which get passed around the table, ending with Arthur, who stacks them neatly beside him.

Pictures and food exhausted, they all lean back in their chairs. "That was probably the best burger I'd had in a long time, Leon. Not that I eat a lot of burgers, but if they all tasted like _that,_ I probably would do," Gwen says. Leon just smiles and blushes slightly.

"Guinevere, tell them where Elyan took you Thursday night," Arthur prompts, placing his hand over hers.

She looks around the table at them and declares, "A disco."

There is a collective groan, and Gwaine drops his head to the tabletop.

xXx

"So what's the deal with Leon and Phil?" Gwen asks, back in Arthur's flat.

"He likes her."

"Thank you, Holmes."

"Well, he likes her, but he's a little afraid of her. We all are."

"I'm not."

"I noticed that," he says, pulling her into his lap.

Iggy meows behind them, and Gwen stands. "I'll feed him," she says, heading to the kitchen.

"Sure, get even further into his good graces," Arthur calls, but he lets her do it anyway, leaning his head back against the back of the cushioned chair he is currently occupying.

"Anyway, he really wants to ask her out, but he's a bit shy with the ladies."

"He's fine with me," she says, emptying a can of cat food into Iggy's dish.

"That's because he knows you were already spoken for. His confidence with women has been nonexistent since the Marisol incident."

"Poor thing. Any woman would be lucky to have a bloke like Leon," Gwen returns to Arthur now, having refreshed Iggy's water and given him a little scratch behind the ears.

"Oh really?" Arthur says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. He's handsome, tall, and those curls, of course. He's polite and sweet. And he can cook. Huge turn-on, that. You should see the reactions El gets when he tells ladies that he's a pastry chef."

Arthur makes a face.

Gwen laughs and says, "And _that_ is the reaction he usually gets from other men, men who aren't in the culinary industry, when he tells them what he does."

He quickly schools his face back to a neutral expression, and Gwen laughs even more.

"I love your laugh," Arthur says, a finger caressing her face, thumb grazing the corner of one twinkling eye.

She smiles at him and kisses his forehead. "Does Phil know? That Leon likes her?"

"I don't think so. I don't think Leon knows that _we_ all know, actually. And honestly, um, we're not sure if Phil, ah, likes men. You know, like _likes_ likes."

"You mean you think she might be a lesbian?" Gwen says.

"Um, yeah."

"I don't think she is."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, she hasn't tried to go in for a grope or chat me up or anything," she jokes. "I've seen the way she looks at some of the men in the shop. When she thinks no one's looking, you know. Seriously, though, she just doesn't have a very good opinion of herself. I think that's why she's so surly. She figures since she doesn't like herself, no one else needs to, either."

"That's twisted."

"You try growing up with a brother like Gwaine, see how well-adjusted you are. I mean, Gwaine's a great guy, but I imagine she was in his shadow a lot," she says.

"Whoa. Never thought of it that way. He does always like to be the center of attention. Parents doted on him, actually. Got everything he wanted…" he trails off, thinking.

"And poor Phyllis was always in the background, ignored, right?"

"Yeah. Wow," he says, looking up at her again. "You're really smart."

"Yes, darling, there is more to me than my fabulous breasts."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Arthur says, eyes intentionally dropping to them, his hands caressing her back now. "Wait, well there are your delicious lips," he says, kissing them. "And your delectable backside." He drops a hand to squeeze a cheek. "And your wonderful…" his eyes drop to her lap.

"Arthur!" she exclaims, blushing bright red.

He grins fiendishly and continues. "Not to mention your amazingly gorgeous feet," he says, reaching down for one, curled in his lap, unfolding her leg, running his hand along its length before squeezing her foot lightly, rubbing it with his thumb.

Arthur leans in and kisses her, her foot still in his hand, caressing it as his tongue caresses hers. Gwen's hands squeeze his broad shoulders, wrapping around him, pulling him closer.

"Guinevere," Arthur whispers, his lips on her cheek, brushing, feather-light. "I…"

"Yes, Arthur?" she whispers back, her pulse quickening.

"I…" he pauses again. "I need to use the loo," he says, deflating against her, head on her shoulder.

"Oh." Gwen climbs down from his lap and he stands. She looks at him and he avoids her gaze, ducking his head and going down the hall.

_Fuck. Stupid clotpole cabbage head._


	22. Chapter 22

Arthur wakes up to an empty bed and looks at the clock. _8:15. Where's Guinevere?_ He lifts his head and hears the shower turn on. _Why is she up?_

He drops his head back down and curls to his side, holding her pillow to his chest. _What is it about her that drives me so crazy, anyway? It's like she has some sort of magical powers over both my heart and my cock. Well, she's beautiful. Smart. Charming. Kind._

 _Why am I questioning this? What's not to love? I should be questioning why I'm so lucky. Why_ she _puts up with_ me.

_Perhaps I shouldn't ask that question._

He presses his face to the pillow, smelling the hint of lilac left by her hair. He smiles, stretches, and stands, heading for the bathroom.

He opens the door, thankfully unlocked, and heads to the toilet.

"Good morning," she calls to him, having heard the door.

"Morning, Sweet. Need someone to scrub your back?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Your front then?"

She laughs, "Arthur!"

He flushes the toilet and pokes his head through the side of the shower curtain, pouting at her.

"What, you didn't get enough of me last night?" she teases, flicking water in his face.

"I never get enough of you," he says. She leans over and kisses him, then turns her back on him, reaching for her shampoo.

"Why are you up so early?" he asks, withdrawing his head.

"I'm going to go to church."

"Ah."

She's quiet a moment, then says, "You're welcome to come with me."

"I don't know," he says, rubbing the side of his head.

"Your decision," she says, not pushing, and the water turns off.

He is holding her towel for her when she steps out, wrapping her in it and giving her a squeeze before releasing her.

Gwen grabs another towel for her hair, squeezing the water from it.

"Where did you get that towel?" Arthur asks, frowning at the one drying her hair. _I don't have any towels that color._

"I brought it from home," she casually says, then flicks it at him.

"Hey, careful, I'm naked here!" he says, jumping out of the way, laughing.

Gwen gives him another kiss, then flounces out of the bathroom, leaving him standing there, deciding.

While she dresses, she hears the taps turn back on as Arthur heads into the shower.

 _Wonder if he's coming?_ She leaves her hair loose, letting the soft curls cascade around her shoulders. Smoothing her dress, she wanders to the kitchen to start some tea and see what she can find to eat.

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur comes out, dressed in the same outfit he wore when they went to dinner with Morgana, including the absent nose ring.

"Okay. I can't promise they won't throw you out for bringing me, but I'll come."

She smiles at him and grants him another kiss. "They won't throw either one of us out," she says, handing him a cup of tea. He reaches for the sugar and she stops him. "Already done."

"Oh really?" he asks, skeptical that she got it sweet enough. He takes a sip, finding it perfect. "Oh. Really," he confirms, chuckling. _Of course she would get it right._

The toaster pops and Gwen spreads some of Freya's marmalade on a slice for him – she's given him the jar – and hands it to him as well. She puts jam on hers and they carry their small breakfast to the living room, where they eat on the sofa in the absence of any kind of dining table.

xXx

_This isn't a good idea. She can't bring me to a church. Not that I have a problem with church, it's just I think they might have a problem with me._

_She's testing me. Testing my commitment to my principles. That must be it._

"Arthur, relax," she says, seeing the whiteness of his knuckles on the wheel. "You're going to break my steering wheel."

"I just haven't been to church in a long time," he says. Not a lie, but not the entire truth, either.

"People are probably going to stare a bit, yes. You're accustomed to that. Just ignore the little old ladies and be your normal charming self and you will be fine, Arthur."

"Will your dad be there?" he asks.

"Yes. Freya, too."

"Good."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, the more allies I have…"

"Arthur, it'll be fine. Right here," she points, and he pulls into the lot. He parks, and she reaches over and squeezes his hand. "Ready?"

"No," he says, opening the door and walking around to open hers for her, holding his hand out to her.

"Gentleman today, nice," she smiles at him, taking his hand.

"Hey, I'm always a gentleman. I just… sometimes forget this detail 'cause I don't have a car, you know?" he grins at her, and she keeps her hand firmly in his as they walk to the doors of the tall brick building.

They walk in, and Gwen looks around for Freya and her dad, spotting them near a door to the side. She waves, and they wave back, to her and Arthur both. They seem pleased to see him there with her. He lifts his hand shyly, waving hello.

"Where are they going?" Arthur asks, seeing them disappear through the door.

"Choir," she says, pulling him towards the sanctuary.

"So we won't be sitting with them?"

"No, of course not. Unless you fancy putting on a robe and calling even more attention to yourself," she says, smirking at him.

"Um, no."

Mercifully, she agrees to sit near the back, though not in the very back pew, as he had tried to do. A few people look in their direction, a few people whisper, but no one says or does anything more. Arthur starts to relax, noting that Guinevere has been relaxed the entire time.

A couple people stop and say hello, and Gwen introduces Arthur, who smiles charmingly and clasps their hands, knowing that in five minutes he'll have forgotten their names. Soft organ music starts playing, and the chatter subsides.

"What do you do in the winter?" Gwen whispers, asking him out of nowhere.

"What?"

"How do you get to work in the winter if you don't have a car?"

He stares at her a moment.

"Sorry, my brain works this way sometimes," she explains.

"Right. Merlin usually comes and collects me."

"You make Merlin drive from his flat, which is above his work, in the cold, through the snow, to come and get your sorry, no-car-having backside?"

"Well, when you say it like that, it kind of makes me sound like a pillock."

She shrugs, chuckling to herself.

 _Maybe I'll just move in with you and then we can ride together in your tiny car,_ he thinks, musing about this possibility, his mind drifting to thoughts of them spending a cozy winter together.

"Please stand and join in hymn number 77, 'How Great Thou Art,'" the reverend's voice rises up, and everyone stands

Arthur frantically flips through the hymnal, looking for the page, finding it just in time. Gwen chuckles at him again, singing quietly, not looking at a book.

"You know all the words?" he leans over and asks her.

She nods. "Just to this one. We sing it almost every week. Look around," she says back in his ear, then resumes singing. Arthur glances around, and several people aren't looking at their hymnals, singing while staring at the front or pulling an errant child back into place or paging through the flyer detailing the morning's service. One man has his pinky finger in his ear and is idly turning his hand, either scratching an itch or digging something out. Either way, Arthur doesn't watch him for too long, not especially wanting to see what might be on the end of the finger when he withdraws it.

He looks back at the book, trying to find his place in the song now. Gwen points, and he nods, and attempts to sing along. He keeps his voice quiet, not used to public singing, even with over fifty other people who aren't paying attention. _My singing is generally limited to screaming along with the Sex Pistols while I paint,_ he notes, smiling slightly.

Gwen reaches over and places her hand on the small of his back, just touching a moment, then she drops it. The small familiar touch makes him smile even more.

The service continues, and Arthur actually finds it interesting, much to his own surprise. _Of course the last time I was in church, I was 16 and a complete idiot,_ he notes.

There is a prayer, announcements, another hymn, scripture, more prayers, and then the choir sings a song.

He watches, spotting Freya in the first row, likely due to her small size. Tom is in the back row, on the end like an anchor.

"Dad's watching you," Gwen leans over and tells Arthur quietly.

"I know. He's been doing so the whole time."

The song finishes, and the reverend starts his sermon. Gwen smiles to herself when he starts going on about "judge not lest ye be judged." _Arthur should appreciate that sentiment,_ she thinks, glancing at him. _He's paying closer attention than I am. Either he's really interested or he's putting on a good show for Dad._

The sermon ends, and the collection plate is passed. Arthur digs two pound notes out of his wallet and drops them in the plate as it goes by. Gwen has a little envelope that she sets in.

Another hymn, a final blessing, and they are out the door.

"No communion?" Arthur asks as they stand.

"We only do communion once a month," she explains. "Were you raised Catholic?"

He nods.

"First Sunday of the month for Methodists. At least at this church. And of course on special occasions."

"Ah."

"Come on," she pulls his hand and they walk up the aisle to exit. They reach the reverend, standing in the doorway, greeting people as they exit.

"Gwen, nice to see you. How was your trip?" he asks, taking her hand in his.

"It was lovely, thank you. Elyan says hello," she tells him. "Reverend, this is my boyfriend, Arthur Pendragon. Arthur, Reverend James Nolan," she introduces them.

The reverend releases Gwen's hand, and reaches for Arthur's. "Welcome, son, welcome, glad you came to visit us today," he says warmly, clasping Arthur's hand between both of his. His hands are soft and warm, and he smiles at Arthur, his friendly eyes twinkling beneath a head of salt-and-pepper hair.

"Thank you, sir, I enjoyed your message," Arthur says, finding his voice.

The reverend smirks, daring to look the younger man over once before saying slyly, "Yes, I imagine you would."

Arthur's eyes grow wide for a moment, and Gwen bursts out laughing. "Come on, let's get you a sweet roll before they're all gone," she says, hooking her hand in Arthur's elbow.

"Have a blessed day, Gwen, and do come back and see us again, Arthur," the reverend calls after them.

 _He hardly even blinked. Guess he actually practices what he preaches,_ Arthur thinks, still feeling a bit unbalanced by the whole experience.

She guides him to a large room full of parishioners milling about, drinking tea and conversing. There is a table at one side with some snacks set up on it.

"You get hors d'oeuvres after church?" he asks, eyes drifting to some sort of pastry with frosting on.

"Just a little fellowship after the service," she says lightly, picking up a plate, setting one of the rolls on it and handing it to him.

"Well, well, look who's here?" a familiar voice says behind him. Arthur turns to see Tom approaching them, Freya close behind.

"Hi, Dad," Gwen goes and gives him a hug. "Hey, Freya," she greets her friend with another hug.

"Hi, Arthur," Freya waves at him.

"Freya, nice to see you. Mr. Degrance," he nods at Gwen's father and extends his hand to shake.

"She drag you here kicking and screaming?" the older man asks, raising his eyebrows at his daughter while he shakes Arthur's hand.

"No, Dad, I told him I was going to church and that if he wished to join me, he could. That's all."

"Well, good on you for coming, Pendragon," he nods.

"Thank you, sir. It's… been rather a long time since I've been to church."

"I can imagine."

"Gwen," Freya says, motioning her over. Gwen glances at her father and Arthur, who are chatting quite nicely, both behaving, so she walks over to her friend.

"Have you seen Merlin at all since you've been back?"

Gwen smiles. "Yes, we went to the pub for dinner last night, actually. And he did ask about you. Quietly. Shyly. It was adorable."

"And?"

"He wants to know if you have a brother," Gwen says, trying not to smile.

"Gwen!"

Gwen laughs now, "Okay, that was a little mean, sorry. I gave him your phone number."

"You… you did?"

"Yep. But he works odd hours, so just be forewarned."

"Okay," she frowns, twisting her lips to the side.

"Arthur and I are working on something, though," Gwen says. "You'll get to see him again soon, I promise."

"What are you planning?"

"Ah, details will be given on a need-to-know basis."

"That means you don't know."

"Maybe."

Arthur walks over, Tom's attention taken by another man wishing to discuss something about the state of the parking lot.

"By the way, several of the ladies in the choir were _quite_ interested in your mysterious young man," Freya says, laughing as Arthur almost drops his pastry.

"I'm sure. Bunch of gossips," Gwen sighs. Arthur pops the last of his snack into his mouth and looks around for a trash can.

"Ah," he says, striding purposefully across the room to deposit his plate and napkin. He pauses by a table and grabs a cup of orange juice, then notices a tiny elderly woman eyeing him suspiciously.

Gwen is watching, and taps Freya. Both women watch Arthur as he holds his orange juice aloft to the old woman, giving her a dashing smile before downing the small cup of juice in one go.

He deposits the cup in the bin and they can see him nod at her and say "Good morning" before he starts back towards them.

"He is a charmer, isn't he?" Freya asks, amused.

"And he knows it, too, which would be really irritating if he wasn't so cute."

Freya laughs. "Dear God, look at Mrs. Johnson now, she's positively blushing!"

Halfway back to them, Arthur is waylaid by a young boy, standing in his path and staring up at him.

"Oh, no," Freya says. "Walter."

"Just watch," Gwen says, remember the incident at McDonald's.

They can't hear Arthur, but he is talking to the boy, and eventually he crouches down on one knee. Walter cannot keep his eyes off Arthur's hair, leaning in close. Pretty soon another child, a girl, wanders up as well.

"Josie," Gwen chuckles.

"He's the bl—" Freya stops mid-curse; they are in church. "He's the Pied Piper," she amends, as Walter's brother Brian joins the group.

Arthur is laughing now, nodding at something one of them has said. Then he points to Gwen, who waves when the three children look at her.

Walter and Brian's mother approaches to peel them away. Gwen and Freya chuckle when they hear her chastising them, "Stop bothering the man, boys, come on."

Arthur stands, and Gwen is certain he is reassuring her that they were no bother. He introduces himself and then waves to the boys. Josie's father has turned up to pull her away now, and she hugs Arthur around the waist briefly before running away from him.

He finally makes it back to Gwen, grinning now.

"Kids are cool," he says, chuckling.

Freya raises her eyebrow at Gwen. "Ready to go?" Gwen asks Arthur, ignoring Freya and slipping her hand into his.

"Yeah. Good seeing you again, Freya. Hope to see you soon," he grins at her.

"Me too," Freya says.

"Oh! Fray, I have something for you from my trip," Gwen suddenly remembers, doing an about-face that leaves Arthur standing perplexed and alone for a moment before he turns back.

"Goody," Freya says. "Oh, and I want to go shopping with you next weekend, Gwen," she says, giving Arthur a meaningful look. "I'm going to Venice with my mum a week from today," she tells him.

"Next Saturday?" Gwen says, ignoring what is surely a pouting Arthur.

"Excellent. He's pouting now," Freya points out.

"I know. He'll get over it," Gwen says.

"He's right here, you know," Arthur speaks up, and both women laugh.

"You can get some painting done, darling," Gwen tells him, turning to him and resting her hand on his chest. She smiles up at him and he caves.

"And you are not playing fair," he says.

"You have your weapons, I have mine," she says, lifting up on tiptoe to kiss him quickly. "Okay, let's go," she says. "'Bye, Fray."

"What were you talking about with my dad?"

"Oh, you know, cars, women, football. Manly things," Arthur says, waving his hand in the air vaguely.

_Right._

xXx

They spend a lazy Sunday together; Gwen almost recovered from her jetlag, but still wishing to lay low. Back at her flat now, she puts the last of her travel things away finally and by the evening is working on sorting her photos and putting them in an album.

Arthur amuses himself by going through Gwen's record collection.

"Beatles… Beatles… Bowie… Chicago. Chicago?" he looks up.

"They have a really good horn section," she defends herself.

"Fair enough. Ah, Squeeze. Like them."

"So I have one album of which he approves," Guinevere mutters.

"Stevie Wonder? _Parliament?_ "

She looks over at him and simply says, "Sometimes a girl just has to get her funk on."

"Okay…"

Gwen smirks and shrugs.

"Miles Davis?"

"That would be jazz, darling."

"I _know_ that," he rolls his eyes.

"It's my mellowing-out music."

"I see." He lifts the next one. "Clapton?"

"Must you question everything? That one is actually Elyan's, though. He left it behind."

"Doesn't he miss it?"

"Probably not. He's discovered Country and Western music somehow, so now his record collection is full of things like… what were they? The Statler Brothers? Oh, and Dolly Parton."

"Isn't she the one with the really big—"

"Yes."

"Aha." He returns his attention to her records. "The Police. This looks brand new."

"It is."

"They any good?"

"I like them. And the lead singer is sexy as hell."

Arthur looks at the cover. "Kind of skinny." He slides the album out and puts it on.

Gwen laughs and continues sorting her pictures.

Arthur joins her on the couch now, easing himself in behind her, his legs on either side of her as she leans over the coffee table.

"Hello," she says, smiling a little but not looking up. She presses a photo in place and replaces the plastic film over the page.

Arthur raises his hands to her shoulders and starts massaging her small firm muscles, bunched from sitting over the table.

"Oh…" she says, dropping her head down. "Ow."

He stops. "Oh, sorry."

"Don't stop. That was a good ow."

"Oh." He resumes, his thumbs sweeping between her shoulder blades, up to her neck. She's put her hair up and out of her way while she was working, and when Arthur's thumbs leave her neck to return to her shoulders again, he presses his lips there softly.

"I do believe you are trying to distract me, sir," Gwen says as he continues to kiss her neck while he rubs her shoulders.

"Whatever gave you… that impression?" he asks, his hands moving lower, working down her spine before creeping around to the front, palms against her stomach for a moment before sliding higher.

"Oh, perhaps that," she says, leaning back against him. He is nibbling at her neck now, and she drops her head back onto his shoulder, giving up.

He smiles smugly, successful in his quest as she turns her head towards his, capturing his lips with hers, her hand lifting to his face. She plunges her tongue into his mouth hungrily, turning her body slightly to reach him easier.

"Guinevere," he huskily says her name, tearing his lips away for a moment, pulling her over him, lying back on the couch, returning his lips to hers.

She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, a soft squeak as her insides turn into a hot liquid at the sound of her name on his tongue like that.

"Arthur," she gasps, her hands on either side of his face, pulling away to look down at him a moment, her brown eyes searching his blue ones. _What was I going to say?_ "Sod it all," she settles on, and drops her lips to his again, but he is laughing now.

"Did you forget what you were going to say?"

"Yes. Shut it."

He pecks her lips a few times and sits up, gathering her in his arms. "You are cute, too, you know," he says, reaching up and pulling the clip from her hair. "When you're all flustered like this. Irresistibly cute." He threads his fingers through her curls, arranging them around her shoulders, placing curls just where he wants them.

"Arthur, you're not setting me for a painting."

"I know. I like your curls. They're fun."

"Try living with them," she smirks.

"I don't think they would look so good on me," he jokes, sliding her from his lap and standing.

She takes his hand and kisses his fingers, and he starts pulling her towards her bedroom.

"Come on. I'm having ideas."

"You _always_ have ideas, Arthur."

"Well, yes, but specific ideas."

She sighs, but then giggles. _All about the anticipation, this one._


	23. Chapter 23

"Arthur, you already got your payback," Gwen says, hands on her hips as he stands with her red silk scarf in his hands, idly winding it and unwinding it around his hands.

"Well, you'll just have to owe me for this one, then," he says, advancing on her with an impish glint in his eyes.

She stays in place and lets him come to her, knowing that he's got his mind set now. _No reason why I should let it be too easy, though. He can come to me._

Arthur loops the scarf around her back, using it to pull her close. His eyes move over her face for a moment or two, the blue-grey pools searching her lovely features as she gazes serenely up at him, waiting patiently.

He kisses her then, hungry, greedy for her, holding her body to his with the scarf. She wraps her arms around his neck, matching his passion with her own as she winds a leg around his as well.

"Take your top off," he gasps, his forehead against hers.

"Not wasting any time, are we?" she giggles, kissing him once more.

"Well, my sweet, if I tie you up first, I won't be able to get this _thing_ off," he says, gesturing to the halter-necked tank top she changed into after church.

"Oh—Arthur!" her snide comment is cut off sharply when he hoists her over his shoulder and dumps her unceremoniously onto the bed.

"Not playing fair," she says, looking at him reproachfully.

"Who said anything about fair?" he grins at her, then drops to the bed, slides his hands around her waist, and kisses her once more, working the hem of her shirt up as he does so.

"I bet you… think you're… being… sneaky," Gwen manages to get out between Arthur's ardent kisses.

"No," he says, pulling his lips away long enough to pull the top over her head. "Not being sneaky at all. You weren't complying with my request, so I took matters into my own hands." He places his hands over her breasts as he says the word _hands,_ grinning smugly.

"Ugh," she groans, flopping back onto the bed.

"Ah, just where I want you," he purrs smoothly, climbing over her, carefully straddling her so as not to crush her. Arthur glides his hands down from her shoulders down across her torso, pausing to appreciate her breasts, how they feel in his hands, their shape and size fitting just right in his palms.

Gwen's eyes close as his hands rove, the familiarity of his hands not detracting at all from the pleasure they bring her. She feels his hands leave her skin and her left hand being raised, gently, the silk scarf winding around it carefully.

 _He is being very careful. He's afraid of hurting me,_ she realizes, smiling now but leaving her eyes closed.

"Too tight?" he asks softly, his lips grazing her forehead.

"No," she says, opening her eyes and pulling gently. Secure, but not painful.

"If you don't want me to do the other one…"

"Chickening out?"

"No! I just… I just don't want to make you uncomfortable or accidentally hurt you."

"Arthur, tie me up." She lifts her right hand to the headboard, crossing it in front of the other.

"Your wish is once again my command," he says, winding the scarf around the other wrist now, securing it with the other.

Gwen pulls lightly at her bonds, and while it's not as tight as the ones she did for Arthur, they'll hold. _I'm not as strong as he is, anyway._

"You'll tell me if you want me to untie you…"

"Arthur, stop worrying."

"Okay."

He stares down at her, her lithe form stretched before him on the bed. _I hope I never get tired of just looking at her._ Pulling his own shirt off now, he reaches down and unbuttons the opening on her shorts, sliding them down and off.

"Pink today, I see," he says, commenting on her knickers. She giggles as he leans down and kisses her stomach, his lips trailing around the flat plane, dipping his tongue into her navel once or twice.

Then the telephone rings.

"Bloody fucking hell, what is it with us and telephones?" he exclaims, irritated as the insistent ringing invades their intimacy. He looks helplessly at Gwen.

"Well, answer it, please. It's probably just Freya anyway."

"Could be your dad," he says, reaching for the phone.

"I'm in the loo if it is," she laughs.

"Hello?" he answers as politely as he can.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I must have misdialed. I…"

"Are you trying to reach Guinevere?" Arthur asks the unfamiliar voice. _A woman. Sounds older._

"What? Yes, I am."

"Hold one moment please," Arthur says, bringing the phone over to Gwen and places it on her ear. She gives him a puzzled look as she leans her head, holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Gwen," the voice says.

"Hi, Mum," Gwen answers back, trying not to sigh too heavily or audibly.

"Who was that answering your phone?"

"My boyfriend, Arthur. I was just in the loo when you rang," she lies.

Arthur sits down at the end of the bed and decides to pick up a foot.

Gwen smiles at him.

"Oh, well, I was calling to see how your trip was, but I'm much more interested in this boyfriend of yours."

"Mum, this isn't…"

"Oh come now, Gwen, surely you can part with a few details."

"We've been together for around a month. He's an artist."

"Handsome?"

"Of course he's handsome, Mum. Look, can you ring later? Or better, tomorrow? I'm a bit tied up right now."

Arthur starts laughing, pressing his face into the sole of her foot to try and keep quiet. Gwen kicks him with her free foot. "That's just foreplay for someone like me," he whispers, still laughing. She kicks him again.

"Oh, sure. Tomorrow night. Will call back then. 'Bye, Poppet, I love you."

"Goodbye, Mum, love you, too."

Arthur takes the phone from her and hangs it up. "I cannot believe you said that."

"About being tied up?"

"Yes! I thought I was going to lose it!"

She smirks. "She would never suspect me capable of such depravity."

"Indeed." He quirks his head to the side. "Interesting that you told her you loved her."

"Well, I do. Doesn't mean I especially _like_ her, though."

"Ah, I see. Understand perfectly, in fact."

"Figured as much. Now are we going to talk about my mother or are you going to finish what you started?" she asks, pressing her foot lightly into his groin.

"Oh, you…" he growls, prowling up across her body, dropping kisses here and there as he goes. Gwen closes her eyes a moment, savoring the feel of his lips against her skin, the tingle they leave in their wake.

"Don't forget you're stuck in this bed until such time as I decide you can be freed," he threatens with an impish grin.

"You don't scare me," she teases back, lifting her head enough to steal a kiss.

He looks down at her, his eyes twinkling with desire, and simply says, "I know."

Gwen laughs now, dropping her head back to the pillow. Arthur descends on her laughing lips, silencing them with his own hungry ones. His hand finds a breast, its nipple already stiff with the anticipation of his touch, and she arches into his hand, moaning into his mouth.

"You still have your knickers on," he mutters, his lips brushing against hers.

"Well, who's fault is that?" she answers, nipping his lower lip. Arthur slides his hand down over her stomach until it reaches the waist of her panties, snatching them with his fingers and starting to slide them down.

"Up," he commands, and she lifts her hips to accommodate him. "Better," he says, eyes roving over her body appreciatively.

Gwen watches him watching her, smiling as he does that slow lip-bite thing of his. _That is just so damn sexy,_ she thinks, unconsciously licking her own lips.

"How did I get so lucky?" he wonders aloud, but his voice is soft, almost a whisper.

"You're not the only fortunate one," she whispers back, her passion-dark eyes burning his heart.

Arthur gives her one more ardent kiss, then moves down her body, trailing kisses until he settles himself between her thighs. He turns his head and kisses the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, dragging his tongue lightly, tickling enough to make her squirm and yelp. Then he bites the spot before turning his head to plunge his tongue into her, thrusting it inside straight away.

"Oh," she gasps, pulling at her bound hands for the first time, her fingers wanting to touch him in some way.

He withdraws his tongue and slides it back in again, peeking up at her as he does so, enjoying watching her reactions, seeing her blissful face, her flushed skin, her breasts thrust forward by the position of her arms above her head.

She moans and writhes, and Arthur holds her hips, keeping her as still as he can as he traces the contours of her moist folds with his tongue, flicking her already over-sensitive points with his tongue before changing and moving slowly, leisurely, his skillful mouth sweet torture.

"Arthur…" she draws his name out, her head tossing on the bed, amazed at how close he is getting her already.

He senses her approaching climax, and gently pulls away from her, grinning like the devil himself as she stares, breathing labored, face slightly frantic.

"Oh, you are not…" she gasps, realization dawning.

He kisses her now, deeply, passionately, silencing any further words she may have had for him. Once again she flexes her shoulders, forgetting she cannot use her hands.

 _I can't even torture him back,_ she thinks as he kisses her neck, nibbles her earlobe, kissing his way to her breasts with wet open-mouthed kisses, tasting her skin.

Arthur's lips find her breast now, and he lightly bites her firm nipple before running his tongue over it and around it as his hand gently massages her other breast.

Gwen winds her legs around his, sliding her smooth limbs against the slight roughness of his leg hair, willing him to touch her, enter her, _something_ to release her from the knot of pent-up desire she has become.

He chuckles against her breasts, switching to the other one now, still stubbornly keeping his hands above her waist.

"Arthur, touch me…" she whispers, asking but not begging. Yet.

"I am touching you," he says, giving her breast an extra squeeze just to illustrate his point.

"You know what I mean," she says, sliding her foot on his calf, trying to persuade him.

"No, please explain," he answers, leaning up on his elbows to look down at her.

"Bastard," she scowls. "I want you," she winds her leg around him again, pulling him towards her, "inside me."

"Which part?"

"Arthur Pendragon, if you do not put your cock inside me right now I am going to explode!"

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" he asks, casually dropping his head to kiss her, intending to bestow a few sweet soft kisses on her lips.

But she bites him and that becomes the end of that.

He makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl, the sting of her teeth on his lower lip only inflaming him. _She did that on purpose,_ he thinks, smirking in a rather satisfied way as he finally moves his hips forward and into her warmth.

Arthur sighs, Gwen moans.

"Oh, God…" she says when he starts moving. He doesn't bother starting slowly or gently; he dives right in, thrusting hard and fast.

"Guinevere," he groans her name, bending down for a kiss before tucking his face into her neck for a moment.

"Mmm, yes," she purrs, her legs still around him, holding him, pushing him.

Arthur adjusts, leaning on his left hand so he can reach up with his right to pull at the scarf securing Gwen's wrists. He yanks the tail and unties one hand, which she immediately brings to his face before stroking his cheek and dragging it down to his shoulder.

He frees her other hand and she clings to his neck with both hands as he drives them both to the brink. Her fingers dig into his flesh, her mouth a silent O as her eyes flutter closed when the sensations take over her and she is falling, tumbling into the abyss with Arthur right behind her.

"Oh… Arth… Oh…" her half-formed words are accompanied by those of Arthur, his head back, the veins and tendons standing out in his neck as his body stills over hers with one final deep thrust.

She wraps her arms around his broad shoulders as he sinks over her, resting his head on her chest, content to let her hold him for a minute or two while his head stops spinning.

"Okay, I forgive you for being an evil bastard," Gwen says, and Arthur starts laughing, sliding off of her to lay beside her, holding her to his chest now.

"Oh, good. I was so worried, you know."

xXx

"Guinevere, will you come in for a minute, please?" Mr. Gaius' voice comes through the intercom on her desk.

"Of course," she says, jabbing the _forward_ button on the phone before standing. _This is it. He's read the manuscript and he's going to tell me how horrible it is and that my editing is bollocks._ She takes a deep breath and opens the door.

"Welcome back, dear," Mr. Gaius greets her as she walks towards his desk. "I trust you had a pleasant holiday?"

"Yes, thank you, it was very nice. Good to be home, though," she says, standing behind a chair, hands clasped firmly behind her back to keep them from fidgeting.

"Please, sit," he motions to the chair she is hiding behind, and she sits.

"So. I read your friend's manuscript," he dives right in now, abandoning small talk.

Gwen waits, saying nothing, hands now folded in her lap, knuckles turning white.

"It's… quite good. _Quite_ good. I liked it very much. Read it twice, in fact."

 _Really?_ "Really?" she manages to squeak.

"Indeed. I know you said that you weren't trying to get him published, but I think I'd like to give him a go. Do you know if he has any more? A sequel to _Rylan,_ perhaps?"

"Um, I believe so. I haven't asked, but then, he doesn't know I'm doing this, either, but my boyfriend mentioned that he thinks Merlin does indeed have more, and…"

"Boyfriend?" Gaius cuts her off, pouncing, intrigued.

 _Verbal diarrhea strikes again._ "Yes, um, Merlin Emrys is my boyfriend's best friend, actually," she says uncomfortably.

"I see."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You already said he was your friend, so what does it matter if he's a close mate of your boyfriend?"

"I guess that makes sense."

"I was merely surprised that you had a gentleman. You've never spoken of him."

"It's personal, sir."

"Understood. Well. I should like to meet Mr. Emrys and discuss a few things with him. You can find him for me, yes?"

"Of course," she says, brightening up again. _All I need is a phone book._

"And Guinevere, about your editing," Gaius starts again.

 _Bloody hell. I'm dead._ "Yes?"

"Very well done, young lady. You know your grammar, and you make shrewd choices. Not a word out of place. Why are you my receptionist?"

"Because that was the only position available, sir," she says honestly, emboldened by his praise.

Thankfully, Gaius laughs at her remark. "Yes, of course. However," he says, reaching for another manuscript, "I have something here for you. I'd like you to try your hand at this one."

"Sir?"

"It's Marcus Ryan's latest."

"Isn't… isn't that the one that he was complaining about, saying that the editor 'butchered his vision?'"

"The same. He was so unhappy with Ben's editing that I had him send over a fresh copy."

Gwen unintentionally smirks at the mention of the editor's name, trying to keep her face neutral.

"And I'd like you to take a look at it. What was that look that just crossed your face?"

"Look?" she asks. _Shit._

"Guinevere, I didn't get to be the Editor-in-Chief of a large publishing company by not being observant. You made a curious face when I mentioned Ben."

"Um, well…"

"Please speak your mind, dear."

"Sometimes thoughts cross my brain that really have no right to be there, sir," she says, biting her lip.

"Oh? Intriguing. Will you share?"

"Well, this was more an _opinion_ than a thought, sir…"

"Even better," he says, leaning forward. "Let's have it."

"Um, not that it counts for much, sir, but in my opinion, um… Ben Cooper couldn't edit his way out of a paper sack. Sir." She bites her lip again.

Much to her surprise, Gaius laughs again. "Hmm," he says, noncommittally. "All I will say is that young Mr. Cooper has been skating on thin ice for about a month now." With that, he hands her the manuscript.

"Thank you, sir." _Is he insinuating what I think he is?_

"Now, feel free to work on that in between your normal rigorous duties," he says with a wink. "Don't take it home, now, that's not how we operate here. Work stays at work."

"Which is why you practically live here, I've noticed," she says, the words leaping out before she can hold them back.

"I like this bold side of you, my dear, where have you been hiding it?" he asks, laughing again.

"Um…" she starts, not sure how to answer this question.

"Never mind, never mind. I'll let you get back to your desk now."

"Thank you, sir. For everything." She stands.

"You're welcome, dear. I know you won't disappoint me," he says, raising his eyebrows at her, the implications unspoken but plain as day.

"Yes, sir," she says, and turns towards the door.

"And Guinevere, get me Merlin Emrys on the phone please," he calls after her.

"One step ahead of you already, sir," she says from the doorway with a smile.

On the other side of the door, she clutches the new manuscript to her chest, squeezing it to her like a prized toy received at Christmas. _Oh God oh God oh God oh God I have to call Arthur. Bugger. Merlin first._

She leaps into her chair and reaches over for the telephone directory, noticing for the first time that her hands are trembling slightly. She clumsily thumbs through the pages until she finds what she's looking for. _The Dragon's Head._ She glances at the clock. 9:45. _I hope he's down there,_ she thinks, dialing the numbers.

It rings interminably. "Damn." She hangs up the phone and dials the number for Excalibur, which is already committed to memory.

"Excalibur," Gwaine's smooth voice pours from the earpiece.

"Gwaine, can you give me Merlin and Leon's phone number? The one for their flat? I need to talk to him. Like now," Gwen's words come spilling out of her, fast and rambling.

"Whoa, easy there, Sparrow, Merls is right here, I'll just—"

"No! Tell him to get his skinny arse back to the bloody pub and answer the bloody phone!" she orders, and hangs up on him.

Gwaine stares at the phone, perplexed.

"What was that?" Merlin asks, having heard his name.

"Guinevere," Arthur answers, chuckling.

"She said that you need to go back to the pub and answer the phone. Actually, it was more like 'tell him to get his skinny arse back to the bloody pub and answer the bloody phone,' if I am remembering correctly," he laughs.

"You'd better go," Arthur says, grinning and shoving him.

"Wait, what? Why?"

" _Go,_ " Arthur shoves him again, this time with his boot.

Merlin stumbles out the door and back into the dark of the pub. He can hear the phone ringing from outside.

"Hello?" he answers, grabbing it.

"About damn time," Gwen's voice snaps at him, then she shifts gears, her voice turning pleasant and congenial. "Good morning, Mr. Emrys, this is Guinevere with Taliesin Publishing. Please hold for William Gaius."

"What? Gwen—" Merlin is left stammering as he is put on hold. He sticks his tongue out at the hold music, total crap, and waits. _What is going on? What has she… Surely not._

The music disappears just before Merlin considers stabbing a knife into his eardrum to save him from death by The Carpenters. "Mr. Emrys?" a clipped, polite male voice comes through the phone, just slightly ragged with his advanced age.

"Yes, this is Merlin Emrys," he says, swallowing. _She didn't. She couldn't have done. I sent that manuscript in months ago._

"Well, Merlin, this is Will Gaius. I'm the editor-in-chief of Taliesin."

"Yes, I know," he says before he can stop himself.

Gaius laughs, and continues. "I've read your manuscript. _Rylan._ I think it has marvelous potential and would like to publish it."

Merlin grabs the edge of the bar before slumping down to the floor, his bony backside connecting sharply with the slightly sticky wood.

"Merlin?"

"I'm here. I'm just… in shock."

"Understood. Can you come to the office tomorrow afternoon so we can meet and discuss matters? Contracts, advances; the little details."

 _Contract? Advance?_ Suddenly pound notes are swimming in Merlin's eyes, but he blinks them away long enough to respond, "Yes, tomorrow should be fine."

"Say, 2:00?"

"Sure," he answers, still stunned.

"I look forward to seeing you then," Gaius says, a finality creeping into his voice.

"Me, too, sir, thank you. Thank you very much."

"Oh, Merlin, two things."

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure you thank your friend Gwen for bringing your manuscript to my attention."

"I will, sir. I will!"

"And if you have any other manuscripts, particularly a sequel to _Rylan,_ bring them."

"I can do that. Thank you again."

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

Merlin reaches up and gropes until he finds the phone and drops the handset back on its cradle. Leon emerges a minute later to find his flatmate still on the floor behind the bar.

"Merlin! Are you all right?"

"I'm getting published," he says quietly.

"You're what?"

"Gwen got Will Gaius to read my manuscript. He wants to publish me."

Leon drops to the floor beside him and hugs him sideways, awkwardly. "That's amazing news! We have to tell the lads next door, come on!"

He stands and pulls Merlin to his feet, and as they walk out the door, Merlin says, "I have a feeling that Arthur already knows."


	24. Chapter 24

While Merlin is having his rather stunned conversation with Gaius, the phone rings at Excalibur again.

"Calling back to yell at me some more?" Gwaine says into the phone, not even bothering with a hello.

"How did you know it was me?" Gwen asks, laughing.

"Because no one rings here before 10 a.m."

"I suppose not."

"And I suppose you want to talk to Drag now," Gwaine says, trying his hardest to sound forlorn.

"Yes, please, darling, if you can summon His Royal Highness to the phone, I would be most appreciative."

Gwaine laughs now, and hands the receiver out towards Arthur. "For you."

Arthur takes it from him. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Good morning again," she says, smiling.

"So he liked it, then?" Arthur asks, getting right to the point.

"Read it twice he loved it so much. Wants more. He's talking to Merlin right now, actually."

"Why did you need to have Merlin go back to the pub?"

"Quieter there. You blokes are noisy, and if you were tattooing someone, those things are loud."

"Ah. I imagine he'll be bursting back in here before long. Will have to peel that idiot off the ceiling by the end of the day."

"Yes, I'm sure," Gwen laughs at the image. "Arthur, there's more good news."

"There is?"

"Mr. Gaius was impressed by my editing as well. You were right, sweetheart."

"Of course I was," he says, grinning broadly. "And that's fantastic! So what does that mean for you?"

Gwen smiles hearing the excitement in Arthur's voice. "He's given me another manuscript to edit. I think it's a test."

"Of course it is. And you'll pass with flying colors."

"But Arthur, it's that problem author. The one I was telling you about that night in the pub?"

"The author that had his knickers in a twist because his… what you call it… 'vision' had been buggered?"

"Butchered."

"Right. His?"

"Yeah," she sighs. Arthur hears a beeping sound in the background. "Hang on one minute," Gwen says, and pops him on hold.

_Must have gotten another call._

Gwen returns just in time to hear Arthur singing softly to "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing." She laughs, shocked that he would even know the song.

"Your hold music is rubbish," he says, recovering.

"You were singing along."

"Repetitive song. Easy to pick up."

"Mmm-hmm," she says noncommittally.

"So. Gaius gave you this manuscript…"

"Arthur, sorry, but I can't stay on the line too long for personal calls. I'll tell you all about it tonight. In short, there's an editor in question on thin ice and I think I may be in line to replace him."

"Wow, that is amazing news, Sweet!" He pauses. "What time do you have lunch?"

"12:30."

"I'll be there at 12:25. I'm taking you to lunch."

"Okay. See you then."

"Later."

xXx

As predicted, Merlin comes bounding through the doors, followed by Leon, just as Arthur hangs up the phone. He immediately tackles Arthur in a tight hug, nearly knocking him over.

"Whoa, there, Nancy, I'm spoken for," Arthur laughs, hugging his friend back. "Well done, mate," he adds, slapping his shoulder once Merlin releases him.

"Your girlfriend is _amazing,_ Drag! She somehow got Will Gaius to read my novel! And he loved it! _He loved it!_ I'm going to meet him tomorrow! Oh God… Tomorrow… I'm going to die…" he collapses into Arthur's chair.

Arthur just chuckles at him and hands him a cup of tea.

"You knew, didn't you?" Merlin recovers his sense enough to ask.

"Of course. It was her idea, though. All I did was make sure that she followed through."

"I need to get her something. A present. Anyone know how much the crown jewels are going for these days?"

"Merlin, what you need to be doing is finding your other manuscripts," Leon says, leaning against Gwaine's counter. Gwaine nods in agreement.

"He's got more?" Gwaine asks.

"Yeah, at least two. Sorry, mate, ran across them when I was looking for some paperwork for my dad. Didn't read them," Leon says.

"Would have been fine if you had," Merlin waves him off, drinking his tea, calming down.

"I suppose this means I'll need to find another barman, too," Leon sighs. "First Ox, now you."

"Hey, don't rain on Merlin's parade!" Gwaine says, punching Leon in the arm.

"Sorry, just occurred to me. Sorry, Merls."

"It's all right. It occurred to me already, too. I'll hang around as much as I can, but if I'm to be slaving away over my typewriter like a proper novelist, well…" his face breaks into its familiar broad lopsided grin again.

"Who's a proper novelist?" Phil asks, finally emerging from the apartment upstairs.

"Nice of you to join us, Phil," Gwaine comments. His sister greets him with a rude hand gesture and goes to her workstation.

"Merlin's getting published," Leon says, smiling at her.

"Cool. Well done, mate," she says, granting him one of her rare smiles.

"Thanks, Phil. I know from you that is indeed high praise," Merlin grins, and she actually snorts a small laugh despite herself.

"She's in a good mood, for her. Go talk to her," Gwaine whispers to Leon.

"Not the right time. This is Merlin's morning," Leon mutters back.

"Excuses."

"Piss off."

"Oh yeah, Merlin, I should tell you. Guinevere, um, edited your manuscript before she gave it to Gaius," Arthur continues.

"What? So she read it?"

"Well, yeah. I don't know how she got her hands on it, but she wanted to read it first before passing it along to Gaius."

"In case it was total dreck, you mean."

"Yeah," Arthur admits. "Lucky for you she loved it. Couldn't put it down. But she did say that you don't know how to use a comma properly."

Merlin laughs now. "She's probably right. So the manuscript she gave to Gaius was all marked up, then?"

Arthur nods. "She's benefiting as well. Gaius was as impressed by her editing as he was by your writing."

"That's fucking brilliant!"

Arthur laughs now. "I'm glad you think so, too, 'cause that's what I told her. He's given her another one to edit as a test."

"She's going to be an editor?" Merlin's already bright eyes light up even further.

"Quite likely. So it appears you're helping each other out, mate."

"Still gotta get her a present. Here," Merlin pulls out his wallet and hands some bills to Arthur. "Get her something from me."

"Merlin…" Arthur doesn't take the money.

"Take it. I don't know what she likes and you do. Get her something from me."

"She'll say it's unnecessary," he says, but he takes the money.

"Well, tell her that _I_ say it is."

"I'm actually taking her to lunch today, so maybe I'll knock off early and hit a few shops before then."

xXx

12:20 p.m. finds Arthur standing inside the main lobby of Taliesin Publishing, looking around.

"Can I… help you?" the receptionist asks him suspiciously, eyeing the strange punk man standing in her lobby with a large bunch of daisies and a small parcel.

"Um, yes, I hope so. I'm looking for Guinevere Degrance."

"You have a delivery for her?" she asks, noting his belongings.

 _She thinks I'm a courier._ "Something like that. I'm taking her to lunch, if you must know," he says, trying a smile on the middle-aged woman, hoping that she'll stop being so superior with him.

She points to the lift. "Fourth floor," she sighs.

"Thank you," Arthur says, smirking once his face is out of her sight. _I can well imagine her thoughts. 'The young people these days, what is he world coming to?'_ He pushes the button and waits.

He emerges into another lobby, smaller than the one downstairs, but well-appointed. It appears that Will Gaius has the entire floor to himself. He smiles as he sees Guinevere behind a large desk, chatting on the phone and writing something down. She doesn't see him.

Arthur walks forward, holding the flowers in front of his face when he gets to the desk.

"Yes, we will be in touch soon. Thank you. Good afternoon," she finishes her call and looks up, yelping in surprise.

"Arthur! You startled me!" she says when he peeks around the flowers.

"These," he hands them to her, "are from Merlin."

She takes them from him and says, "He didn't need to do that."

"That's what I told him, but he insisted. And," he hands her a small rectangular box, "this is from both of us."

She sighs and gives him a sideways look. "What is this, now? You are both unbelievable."

Gwen opens the box to find a beautiful pen, red and gold with a _G_ engraved on the clip. She lifts it out and twists it so the nib extends from the bottom, smiling all the while. Lowering it to her pad, she draws a line. It writes beautifully smooth and it's neither too heavy nor too light, the barrel neither too thick nor too thin. The ink is red.

"I love it. It's perfect," she looks up at him and smiles.

"Thought you could use a shiny new weapon."

"Guinevere, I'm off to my lunch with—oh, hello," Gaius emerges from his office, stopping when he sees a strange young man standing there talking to his receptionist.

"Afternoon, sir," Arthur nods at the older man.

"Mr. Gaius, this is my boyfriend, Arthur. He's come to take me to lunch."

"Ah, yes, the famous boyfriend of whom I recently learned. And he came bearing gifts, I see," Gaius smiles, stepping forward and extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, young man."

"Pleasure to meet you as well, sir," Arthur says, shaking his hand.

"Well, I'm off. One does not keep Uther Pendragon waiting, you know," he says, placing a hat on his head of white hair.

"Indeed not, sir," Gwen says, bending to look for a vase so he doesn't see her shocked face.

"And young man, take good care of this young lady. Good receptionists are hard to find, you know. And keeping them is even harder," he adds with a cryptic wink.

"I will, sir, enjoy your lunch," Arthur says casually. _And why don't you help my father pull his head out of his backside while you're there,_ he mentally adds.

The elevator doors close, and Gwen stares at Arthur. "That was…"

"Strange," Arthur finishes.

"To say the least. I honestly did not know that my boss was acquainted with your father."

"Not entirely surprising since my father knows most of the high-profile men in business around here," he shrugs. "I'm sure Gaius there has some large accounts that Father's people are handling. Come on. I'm hungry."

"Me, too. Let me get some water for these first, though."

"Hey, what's the story with the receptionist downstairs? Is she always that uptight?" Arthur calls after her.

He hears her laugh, and she comes back with a vase half-filled with water. "She has a perpetual bug up her bum." She places the flowers in the water, sets them in a prominent place on her desk, hits a button on the phone and starts to come out from behind the desk.

"Wait," she spins around and puts her new pen back in its box before tucking it into a drawer for safekeeping. "Okay. Let's go."

xXx

"So he didn't come out and _say_ that I'll get Ben's job if I do well, but the implication was definitely there," Gwen says, taking one more bite of her sandwich before setting it down. "Ugh. Full."

Arthur reaches for the discarded quarter-sandwich, eliminating half of it in one bite. "Sounds like you're poised for an office of your own pretty soon, Sweet."

"Provided I don't bugger up this blasted manuscript. It's going to be a hard one, I think."

"But you said yourself that this Ben bloke is a crap editor. So maybe the book isn't that bad and he really did mangle it."

"Possible," she says, idly stirring her lemonade with her straw.

Arthur takes her hand. "You need to have more faith in yourself. Didn't you just prove to your boss that you are phenomenally brilliant?"

Gwen laughs, "I don't know if I would say 'phenomenally brilliant,' but he was impressed."

"See, there, was that so hard?"

"Yes, but there's a fine line between confident and cocky, you know."

"Is there?"

"Yes, and you march right along that line constantly," she says, laughing again.

"And I do so proudly," he grins, sitting up straight in his chair.

Gwen just rolls her eyes at him, which just makes him preen even more. The waitress drops off the bill, and Gwen notices the young woman's eyes lingering on him for just a tad longer than they should. _Cow,_ she finds herself thinking.

Arthur chuckles at her as he pulls his wallet out.

"I can pay for myself," she offers.

"Nonsense. I said I was taking you to lunch. That means I am paying. That's the rule."

"But—"

"No arguments, Guinevere."

She sighs heavily, more of a _humph_ than a sigh. "I'm making you dinner tonight, then. What's your favorite thing?"

"You."

"To eat, I mean."

"Still you."

"You are impossible."

He grins. "Steak."

"Thank you. And what with it?"

"Make that pasta we had that day."

"Okay."

"And Brussels sprouts."

"Really?"

The waitress returns and Arthur hands her the bill and some money, indicating that the change is hers to keep. "Yes, really."

"Strange. And dessert, obviously."

"Obviously," he says, standing and offering her his hand. She takes it, stands, and they exit the restaurant, Arthur's arm around her. He leans over and kisses the top of her head just as they pass their waitress, and Gwen cannot stop the smug smile that creeps across her face as the other girl watches them pass.

xXx

Gwen doesn't stop at the pub or Excalibur after work, going to the market instead. She picks up everything she needs for dinner, including ingredients for a recipe called triple chocolate bliss cake that she's been wanting to try.

Arthur has instructions to arrive at 7:30, but he is knocking at the door at ten past.

"You are so predictable," Gwen says as she lets him in. "I knew you would be early," she says as he pulls her into his arms for some kisses hello.

"Sorry, I was bored. Merlin's not happy, you know. He wanted to see you."

"Oh, sorry! I should have known! But… I have an idea."

"About what?" Arthur releases her and follows her to the kitchen, where he immediately sees the cake and makes a beeline.

"Hands off the cake," she warns. "It's still cooling."

He scowls and plops down at the table. Gwen hands him a stack of plates and silverware. "Make yourself useful."

"So your idea?" he prompts, setting the table.

"Merlin has Thursday nights off, right?"

"Yeah."

"We go out to celebrate. Dinner. And we invite Freya."

"Brilliant," he turns and smiles at her. "Do we tell them?"

"Not sure. What do you think?" she asks, turning her attention back to the pasta, mixing in the parmesan cheese.

"I think we keep it a secret. You invite Freya, I'll invite Merlin, and we meet there," he grins fiendishly.

"Nice. You're devious, you are."

She brings the food to the table. The steaks are perfect, the pasta as good as he remembered it being, and he is blown away by the sprouts cooked in garlic and chicken broth.

"I knew you were a good cook, Guinevere, but this is better than that swank place Morgana took us to," he says, inspecting a bite of his perfectly-cook steak speared on the end of his fork, lovely and pink in the middle.

"My mum is actually an excellent cook, and both El and I spent a lot of time with her in the kitchen when we were kids," she comments, then looks up, her eyes wide. "Shit! She's supposed to be calling tonight!"

Arthur laughs. "So talk to her if she calls," he shrugs. "I don't mind."

"Thanks," she says, but she doesn't exactly sound grateful.

"I can tie you to the bed again, if you'd rather."

Now Gwen laughs. "No, I'll need to get it over with at some point."

They are just finishing, and the phone rings, as if on cue.

"Go," Arthur says. "I'll clean this up."

 _Excellent, I get out of cleaning up the mess,_ Gwen thinks, standing. Just before she picks up the phone she calls, "Don't you dare touch that bloody cake! We'll have it after!"

"Shit," she hears him curse softly from the kitchen.

"Hello," she answers.

"Hi, Gwen," her mother greets her. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I? It took you a bit to answer."

"No, just finishing dinner, actually." She plops down on the sofa.

Arthur listens to Gwen's half of the conversation while he washes the dishes, suppressing the urge to run his finger through the thick chocolate ganache taunting him from atop the cake, shiny and smooth and smelling of heaven itself.

"Yes, it was fun. He's doing really well. The customers love his desserts."

A pause.

"No, not yet. He's happy enough, yes."

"I don't know, he didn't mention one and I didn't ask. If you want to find out about his love life, ask _him._ "

She continues, giving her mother the rundown of events from her trip. _I notice she doesn't go into great detail. She's polite but not overly friendly. Guarded. Doesn't trust her, and I don't really blame her._

"His name is Arthur."

Arthur's ears prick up at the mention of his name.

"Pendragon."

"Yes, Mum, he is, but, um, they're not really on good terms. It's a bit complex."

" _No,_ Mum. Yes, I know the reasons, but I'm not going to be airing his dirty laundry."

"Of course he does. I'm very happy."

"I told you already, he's an artist."

"He does tattooing, but just to pay the bills. His actual artwork is completely amazing."

_Thank you, my love._

"Dad already checked him out, by the way."

There is a long pause, and Arthur comes from the kitchen and Gwen scoots her feet up so he can sit by her on the couch. He pulls her feet into his lap and watches her. _She looks puzzled. Her mother is telling her something interesting. Surprising. Maybe even shocking?_

"When?"

"I didn't even know you were seeing someone."

"Well, you're always too busy digging into my life to tell me about yours, you know."

 _Whoa. What's going on?_ He looks at her, and she makes and exasperated face.

He rubs her feet gently, waiting, trying to figure out what the mystery is.

"I'll try, that's all I can say. Some things are happening for me at work and I can't promise I'll be able to get away."

"I guess I'm… kind of auditioning for a promotion, for lack of a better term. Mr. Gaius is giving me a trial manuscript to edit."

"Thanks, I am excited. And nervous. So, um congratulations, then, I guess, though I'm still mainly surprised."

"All right. Let me know."

"Love you, too. 'Bye."

She stretches backward and hangs the phone up and looks at Arthur, his thumb running along the muscles of her arch.

"She's getting married."

xXx

"That cake was amazing," Arthur says, his fingertips tracing small circles on her back as they lay entwined in Guinevere's bed.

"You're _still_ basking in Cake Afterglow?" she asks, lifting her head to look at him. "Even after we just finished thoroughly punishing my bedsprings?"

"It was _really_ good. And you are still amazing, Sweet. Don't think I've replaced you with cake." He leans over and kisses her, lingering over her lips.

"I will always carry that fear with me, Arthur," she teases.

"Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about," he says, his hand sliding down her back to cup the curve of her backside. "You are far superior to cake in several ways."

"Well, that's certainly comforting," she says, snuggling against him with a yawn.

"Tired?"

"Mmm-hmm," she nods her head and cuddles closer still, her head on his shoulder. He looks down at her, her eyes closed, face relaxed, hair swept back in a loose braid. She looks innocent and beautiful, and his heart lurches a little.

He reaches over, carefully, and switches off the small bedside lamp. As Gwen drifts off to sleep, Arthur's mind drifts back to his conversation with Tom yesterday after church.

_"So, Pendragon, how are things in the exciting and glamorous world of body art?" he had asked, appearing and sounding pleasant enough, but Arthur caught the undertone._

_"You're making fun of me, sir," he replied carefully._

_"And you are smarter than you look. Which is why I'm staying on your, um, backside."_

_"I know. You're worried about your daughter's future. I understand that. I'm not good enough for you; you've made that abundantly clear."_

_"Smile, she's looking," Tom warned, even chuckling._

_Arthur smiled obediently before taking another bite of his pastry._

_"It's not a question of whether you're good enough, Arthur. No one is. Surely you know that."_

_"I do, sir. And I agree, if you must know. I want to be better for her. I want…"_

_Tom fixed him in the hawk-like stare he's perfected throughout his years with the police. "Exactly how long have you been in love with my daughter?"_


	25. Chapter 25

"Gwen, I'm freaking out," Merlin's frantic whisper comes through the receiver.

Gwen sighs. "First, stop whispering. Second, you'll be fine, I promise. Mr. Gaius is a great person, I promise."

"But he's _Will Fucking Gaius,_ Gwen!"

"Well, I don't recommend you addressing him thusly when you meet him, but he's actually very down-to-earth. Not superior or posh at all. I promise. So breathe."

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Leon has ordered me to stay out of the pub, you know. He's afraid I'll break something."

"Wise move. Now Merlin: your hair is… down?"

"Of course it is. I will be looking quite respectable today; you won't even recognize me."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. My mum is coming over and everything to make sure."

Gwen laughs, slapping her hand over her mouth. Another line starts flashing and beeping. "Merlin, I have to go. Be here at 1:45."

"My appointment is at 2…"

" _1:45._ " she repeats sternly and hangs up on him. "William Gaius' office, Gwen speaking, may I help you?"

"Good morning, this is Marcus Ryan. Is Will available?"

"Hold, please." _Shit. Fucking shit. I'm only four chapters into his manuscript and he calls._ Gwen hits the intercom button.

"Yes, Gwen?"

"Marcus Ryan on two, sir. Are you in?"

He sighs. "Yes, I suppose so. And so are you."

"What?"

"Transfer the call and come in here."

"Yes, sir."

"One moment," she says to Marcus and transfers him back. Then she hits the forward button, takes a deep breath, and quietly enters Gaius' office.

"—you've given my manuscript to _who?_ Your bloody _receptionist?_ What are you playing at, Will?" Marcus Ryan's irate voice is shouting from Gaius' speakerphone.

"Marcus, I'll thank you to watch your tone. I can still pull the plug on this book of yours, you know, contract or no."

"But…"

"And Ms. Degrance is now with us, so I'll also ask you to watch your language. Guinevere, I trust you are familiar with Mr. Ryan?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Ryan, it's a pleasure to be working with you," she says politely. Gaius rolls his eyes and smirks, but gives her a thumbs-up.

"Yeah, sure. Look, I don't know what kind of game you two are playing with me, but if you bollocks up my novel the way Cooper did, I'll…" he pauses, searching.

"Yes?" Gwen asks, waiting to see what kind of threat he can come up with. _We are holding all the cards. This man is an idiot._

"I'll take my manuscript to Knighthood, that's what I'll do!"

"Well, Marcus, if that's how you feel…" Gaius indulgently says, calling the man's bluff. Knighthood is no threat.

There is silence on the line.

"Mr. Ryan, are you still with us?" Gwen asks gently after a moment.

"Yeah."

She looks over at Gaius, who gestures for her to continue. "Speak your mind, dear, it's okay," he whispers.

"I was only just given your manuscript yesterday, and while it is a bit rough, it has potential."

" _Potential?_ " he sputters, incensed. "Look, missy…"

"No, _you_ look," Gwen says, losing her temper with this weed much quicker than she expected. "Just because you had one successful novel doesn't mean you are Charles bloody Dickens! Now, I may be new at this, not even officially an editor—"

"Yet," interjects Gaius, loudly enough for both of them to hear.

"But I know the written word. Probably better than you do, judging by this manuscript. So either you let me edit your manuscript and take the advice I give to try and salvage this… _thing_ you've written, or I throw in the towel and use your manuscript to line my cat box, because as it currently stands, that's pretty much all it's good for!"

Her mouth snaps closed, and suddenly she realizes what she's just said. She claps her hands over her mouth and looks at Gaius with wide, frantic eyes.

He is shaking with silent laughter, tears streaming from his bleary eyes, a handkerchief to his face.

The phone is silent. They know he's still on the line is because it hasn't gone dead with its tell-tale buzzing noise. And they can hear him breathing.

"Okay." One word comes through the speaker. One defeated, gloomy word of assent. Gaius gives her a thumbs-up again.

"Very good. You'll be hearing from me again when I've completed my first pass of your manuscript."

"Okay." He sounds like a chastised little boy. _This must be what power feels like,_ Gwen thinks. _I could get used to this._

"Good morning, Marcus. We'll be in touch," Gaius says, and promptly hangs up the phone. He raises an eyebrow at Gwen.

"Sorry." She doesn't know what else to say.

"What for? You were brilliant, Gwen! I thought I was going to have a stroke from trying to keep my laughter contained!"

Gwen suddenly laughs. "I don't know what came over me, sir, I just…"

"It was when he called you 'missy,' wasn't it?"

"I think so."

"Let me see what you've done so far. With the manuscript."

"Now?"

"Yes, go get it please."

Gwen jumps up and scurries from the office, snags the manuscript, open on her desk (lovingly removing her special pen from it first, of course), and shoots back into Gaius' office.

"Thank you. I'll let you know when you can come get it back."

"Thank you, sir."

"And Guinevere?"

"Yes?" she turns back.

"I loved the cat box comment."

She giggles. "It's actually Arthur's cat, but he likes me better."

"Of course he does."

Gwen sinks back into her chair, her heart still thumping with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. _Talk about trial by fire,_ she thinks, looking at the phone. _No, I've been using the phone for personal calls far too much already. I'll tell him later._

Half an hour later, Gaius' voice comes through the intercom. "Gwen?"

"Yes?"

"You can come get this."

"Thank you." She enters his office again, and he holds it out for her.

She takes it from him, and he only nods at her. _Approval? He's so bloody cryptic sometimes._

"Gwen, page Ben Cooper for me."

xXx

1:43. The lift dings and the doors slide open. A tall, slender man emerges in tailored black trousers, a crisp white shirt open at the neck, and a dark grey sport coat. A black attaché case hangs easily from his hand. He has shiny black hair and shiny black shoes, and he looks completely dashing, even with the oversized ears and goofy grin.

"God, Merlin, you look incredible!" Gwen gushes, coming out from behind the desk, embracing him in a tight hug, which he returns with his free hand, squeezing her hard.

"Thank you so much, Gwen, you have no idea how much I appreciate what you've done for me," he whispers raggedly in her ear, the softness of his voice not disguising the emotion overcoming him at all.

She pulls away and wipes his eyes with her thumbs. "Now Merlin, you can't go in there looking like a giant puddle," she smiles, joking to keep her own emotions in line, so touched is she by his admission and free affection.

"Okay," she continues, squeezing his elbow. "Have a seat. I'll let him know you're here."

Gwen returns to her seat and Merlin sits on a brown leather sofa next to a potted plant. He watches as Gwen hesitates a moment, then presses the intercom button.

After a moment, Gaius' voice comes out of the little speaker. "Yes?"

"Merlin Emrys to see you, sir."

"Excellent. Five minutes."

"Very good." She looks over at Merlin.

"I heard."

"Merlin," she says, motioning him over.

"What?" he asks, wondering what's up.

"He's in there with the editor I may be replacing," she whispers.

"He's getting sacked?" Merlin whispers back.

"I don't know. I've been dying out here since I got back from lunch and found out he was in there. They talked on the phone this morning, but he didn't come up till recently."

"So I'm not the only one spending the day on pins and needles, then."

"You'd better have a pint ready for me as soon as I walk through the door this evening."

Merlin smiles. "We'll both need one."

"Or three…" she says, fidgeting with her new pen. The phone rings and she jumps. Merlin waves and goes back to his seat to let her work.

"William Gaius' office, Gwen speaking, may I help you?"

"I'm sorry, he's in meetings until at least three. Is there a message?"

She picks up another pen and a pink notepad and writes a name, number and message on the pad.

"Got it. Thank you, he'll be in touch."

She tears the sheet from the pad and places it in a tray to her left just as Gaius' door opens. Merlin looks up to see a shaken-looking man emerge. He looks like he's seen a ghost. _Or has just been sacked,_ he thinks, trying not to grin.

Guinevere, to her credit, keeps her eyes trained studiously on the manuscript in front of her, twirling the pen between her fingers as she reads. Or pretends to read.

Ben Cooper strides to the lift, not looking at either of them, head forward and slightly downcast as he agitatedly stabs the _down_ button.

There is a ding and the doors slide open.

"Merlin, quite a pleasure to meet you, young man," Gaius says, stepping forward. Merlin sees that the older man uses a cane and stands immediately, coming up to meet him, saving him the walk.

"It is an honor, sir, a real honor," Merlin says, trying not to gush as he reaches forward to shake the offered hand of the man he hopes will become his mentor.

"Please, call me Will," Gaius says as he ushers Merlin towards his office door. "I presume there are more manuscripts in that case?" he asks.

"Yes. I have two more, sir. Will," he corrects himself, feeling awkward doing so. He glances at Gwen briefly. Her head is still bent over her manuscript, but she is grinning from ear to ear now.

The door closes and Gwen drops her head onto the manuscript. She honestly has just been staring at the page, not reading at all.

_Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God…_

"Gwen, would you bring in some tea for Mr. Emrys and myself?" Gaius' voice emanating from the intercom snaps her out of her moment of panic.

"Of course. Biscuits? It's a bit early, but…"

There is a pause. "Yes, thank you."

xXx

Guinevere enters Excalibur at the end of the day, a raw bundle of frazzled excited nerves. She is excited and terrified, thrilled for Merlin and for herself, but overwhelmed for them both as well.

"Guinevere! What is it?" Arthur asks, wiping his hands on a towel and coming over.

She throws herself into his arms, holding tightly.

"What's wrong? Merlin said his meeting went well, but he wouldn't say anything else except you'd have news. I've been having a series of heart attacks all afternoon waiting for you; what is it, Sweet?" he asks anxiously, holding her, stroking her hair, and giving her small soft kisses as she clings to him. He can feel she is ready to just jump out of her skin.

"Ben Cooper was sacked today," she says quietly.

" _What?_ " Arthur pulls back gently and looks into her wide eyes. By this time Gwaine and Phyllis have stopped what they were doing as well, and all eyes are on Guinevere's small form in Arthur's arms.

"Ben Cooper. Mr. Gaius gave him his walking papers."

"So that means…" he leads her, excitement growing in his voice now.

She nods. "Thursday, officially."

Arthur wraps his arms around her and picks her up with a shout, spinning her in his arms.

"Arthur!" she exclaims with a laugh, forgetting herself, forgetting that she tries to use his preferred nickname when his friends are around.

He sets her down and studies her. _Why isn't she excited?_ "Guinevere, this is amazing! This is exactly what you wanted; why do you look like you just walked in on your parents having a shag?" he asks, brining his hand to her cheek.

"It's… so soon! I am completely overwhelmed." She holds up her hand. "Look, I'm shaking."

He takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing her fingers. "Let's go get you some Guinness and something greasy to eat," he says, bending to kiss her lips now.

They turn to leave and Gwaine grabs her hand as she passes him. "I get to congratulate you, don't I?" he asks.

"As long as you behave yourself," she says, smiling.

"Well, I never do that," he says, but he gives her a warm hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek while Arthur watches under an arched brow.

"Thank you, Gwaine," she says. Phil steps forward and takes her hand for just a second, giving it a squeeze before dropping it and walking away.

"I can see you smiling, Phil," Gwen calls after her, earning her a raised middle finger from the other woman.

"Hey, she's officially initiated now!" Gwaine cheers.

Arthur and Gwen laugh and head next door to the pub. Justin opens the door quite respectfully for Gwen, and she cannot help noticing that the new bouncer looks like he is seeking approval from Arthur for his actions.

"Justin," Arthur nods as he walks past.

"Hey, Drag. Miss Gwen," he greets them.

"Miss Gwen?" Arthur asks her once they are inside.

"Don't ask me, I'm as surprised as you are," she says. "Oof!"

Gwen is nearly tackled by a black blur that turns out to be Merlin, joyously throwing his arms around her again before he impulsively kisses her flush on the lips.

"Wow, um, hello, Merlin," she says, stunned and blinking.

Arthur appears equally stunned rather than angry, and Merlin flushes bright red, realizing what he's just done.

"Sorry, sorry… I don't know what came over me! I'm just so ridiculously happy right now…" he stammers, and suddenly both Arthur and Gwen start laughing.

"Well, Merlin, considering I just kissed Drag not two minutes ago, you kind of just kissed him, too."

"Gah!" Merlin exclaims, running behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of vodka. He bends his head over the sink, pouring some of the strong alcohol over his lips.

"That's a bit excessive, I think," Arthur comments as they sit at the bar.

"Merlin, I know a lot of famous writers were drunks, but aren't you kind of putting the cart before the horse?" Leon comments casually, emerging from the kitchen.

Merlin stands again and puts the vodka back, wiping his face. "No one here drinks this shit anyway," he comments absently.

"Merlin?" Gwen asks sweetly, smiling at him.

"Yes?"

"I seem to be not having any Guinness," she says, indicating the empty expanse of bar in front of her.

Arthur laughs as Merlin scurries to grab a glass for her. "Leon," he calls.

"Yeah?"

"What's on the menu tonight, my good man?"

"Actually, that's why I came out. I wanted to tell Gwen that I tried one of the recipes in the cookbook she got me." He looks at her now, smiling.

"Oh, good! This is turning out to be quite the day, indeed," she says, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

"Be right back," he says, heading back to the kitchen.

Arthur looks sideways at Gwen, giving her a knowing smirk, then says, "Merlin. We need to celebrate both of your successes. Thursday, we're going out." He declares this as if making a royal decree.

"Oh, we are, are we? Where?"

"That is up to you and Guinevere."

"Szechuan Palace," Merlin suggests.

"Chez Pierre," Gwen suggests.

"Do I look like I'm made of money, woman?" Arthur asks, laughing as he lifts his glass to his lips.

"I was kidding."

"I know."

"Grenadier's," she tries another option.

"I hate that place," Merlin makes a face.

"Really?"

"My mum got sick from their food once."

"Perhaps not, then. Um, Luigi's."

"Maybe. Drag: tie-breaker. Italian or Chinese?" Merlin asks.

He glances at Gwen, wishing he could ask her which Freya would prefer.

"Merlin, can you help me?" Leon pokes his head out.

"Yeah, sure."

Arthur looks at Gwen. "Thank God. Which one would Freya prefer, do you think?"

Gwen sighs. "I really want some pasta, but Freya loves Chinese food."

Arthur smiles and kisses her.

Leon and Merlin come out with plates. "Chili dogs," Leon declares, setting the two plates he has in front of Arthur and Gwen.

"Oh my God, these look sinful," Gwen gushes. Merlin sets their plates down on the bar as Leon disappears again, coming out with a tray filled with condiments.

"I didn't know what you all liked, so we'll do it this way," he says, setting the platter down in the middle of them. It has chopped onions, shredded cheese, crumbled bacon, diced tomatoes, and hot peppers each in their own little dishes.

Guinevere immediately reaches for the cheese and bacon, Arthur chooses cheese and bacon as well as the tomatoes, and Merlin dives immediately for the hot peppers. Leon has everything.

Gwaine saunters in just as they tuck in, the lads picking theirs up and biting messily while Gwen takes the tidier option of a knife and fork.

"Ah, I see you waited for me like one pig waits for another, as usual, and what on God's green earth is _that?_ "

Leon sets his dog down and disappears for 30 seconds, emerging with a plate for Gwaine. "Is your sister coming over?" he asks quietly.

"Don't think so, sorry. She was grumbling something about her back and a hot bath," he says, loading his chili dog up with all the toppings, heavy on the peppers.

"Still giving her trouble, hmm?" Leon asks, frowning.

"It always will, mate."

"What happened?" Gwen asks.

"Car accident a couple years ago. Bloody lorry driver was falling asleep and sideswiped her, sending her into a wall. Wrecked her lower back," Gwaine explains, his mouth full. "Holy shit Leon, I think I need to change my pants," he adds, closing his eyes as he chews.

"How terrible," Gwen says, taking a drink. "And yes, Leon, these are really good."

"Phil was lucky, though, if he had been going faster, she would have hit harder and she probably wouldn't be able to walk now," Merlin adds.

"Oh, God, that's awful," she says, wondering if her recurring pain contributes to her less-than-sunny disposition.

"I know what you're thinking, and she was already Mary Sunshine _before_ the accident," Arthur says. Leon flicks Arthur's ear for that comment.

"Gwen! Oh, shit! I didn't get to tell you!" Merlin suddenly exclaims.

"I know, you haven't told me anything about your meeting," she says, turning towards him again.

"Sorry! You were right, he is _so_ amazing. Like you said, not posh at all. Old, but sharp as a tack. And funny, I couldn't believe it!"

"So it went well, then?" Gwen smiles, knowing that it did indeed go very well. She saw the contract.

"You know it did, Gwen. But I, um, insisted that you would be my editor. Only you. That was my one stipulation."

Gwen nearly spits a chunk of hot dog across the bar, and Arthur pounds her back while she coughs, recovering.

"It's on the contract," Merlin adds.

"Merlin! You didn't have to do that!" _Apparently I should have looked closer at the contract._

"Yes, I did. I saw your edits, Gwen; he showed me. You are brilliant and I trust you, therefore yours is the only red pen that will touch my work."

Gwen leans across the bar and hugs him. "You will be much more enjoyable to work with then that twat Marcus Ryan," she says, her eyes twinkling. "Oh! Speaking of him, I _have_ to tell you…"


	26. Chapter 26

Gwen heads home after work Wednesday, exhausted from spending the bulk of the afternoon moving into her new office.

_Office. I have a bloody office. My own window. My own desk. My own four walls, and a door that closes._

She reaches the corner, and while she waits for the traffic, she happens to look ahead and sees the lads out in their gathering place instead of the shop and the pub. So she goes straight instead of turning right, heading for them.

"Slackers," she declares as she reaches them, teasing them for abandoning their posts. Arthur reaches for her immediately, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her neck.

"No one had been in since half three, so I said fuck it," Gwaine explains, blowing a puff of smoke, careful to aim it away from her.

"And Justin and Craig are manning the pub," Leon says with a shrug.

"Must be nice to be men of leisure," she sighs. "I spent the afternoon moving shit around and I am wiped out."

"Oh, that's right, tomorrow is your first official day as an editor," Arthur says, giving her a squeeze. "Get everything sorted?"

"For now. I'll be tinkering forever. I could use some artwork for my walls, though," she says, turning her head to look up at him.

"I think that could be arranged," he says, leaning down to kiss her.

"Hey, there's laws against that kind of thing, you know," Ox's voice interrupts them as he saunters up.

"Ox!" they all chorus, not having seen their large friend in several days.

"Hey," he nods at them, bending to receive a hug from Gwen. "Oh, and don't look now, but Tweedle Dum and Tweedle… Dum are across the street, trying to pass by unnoticed," he comments.

Five sets of eyes turn and one set closes, saying, "I said, 'don't look now.'"

Gwen laughs, and Helios turns his head at the sound, spotting her amongst the lads.

"Oy! You're that little bitch that kneed me in the bollocks!" he shouts, pointing.

Cenred, his nose healed, starts pulling at his friend's elbow, muttering, "Leave it, Helios, let's go…"

"Nah, I couldn't pee straight for a week 'cause of her, and… _what?_ " he turns and looks at Cenred.

"She's Drag's girl now, and all five of them tossers are about ready to pound your skull in. _Leave it._ "

Helios looks across the street and sees Gwaine already stepping forward and Arthur gently positioning Gwen behind Ox, his eyes locked on them.

"Don't mind us, lads, we're just passing through," Cenred calls, giving them possibly the world's most insincere smile as he shoves Helios further down the sidewalk.

"The monkey can be trained," Merlin muses as they watch them walk away.

"What was that about, Arthur?" Gwen asks, putting her hands on her hips.

"What?" he asks, not sure what she's asking.

"Pushing me behind Ox. Like I'm some helpless… girl!"

"Oh. That."

"Yes. That." She stares him down. The others don't even bother trying to pretend they're not paying attention. They've learned that Angry Gwen is good theatre. Especially when said anger is directed at Arthur

"Um, sorry. I guess it's that protective thing again, isn't it?"

"You think?" she asks, sarcastically.

"And for the record, I didn't exactly _push_ you. I gently _placed_ you."

"Like I was some kind of doll."

"Well, when you say it like that…"

"Drag. Just apologize again, mate," Gwaine suggests quietly.

"Don't help," she snaps at him. He holds his hands up in surrender.

"Guinevere," Arthur tries, not playing fair at all. He takes her hand in his, caressing gently with his thumb.

She fights the buttery feeling in her knees caused by his voice, but lets him pull her into his arms.

"I'm sorry. I just don't want anything to happen to you," he quietly says, using that soft, low tone that she has a very hard time resisting. Arthur leans down and kisses her cheek, whispering, "I don't know what I'd do."

Her eyes close then, knowing this last bit was for her ears alone, and she gives in. She kisses him once, then says, "You really are impossible," and shoves his chest.

"Come on, let's go home."

"Who's?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really," she shrugs. "See you around, lads," she waves to them as the two of them head towards Arthur's motorcycle.

xXx

They decide on Arthur's flat, stopping first at Gwen's so she can collect some things. After a quick stop for Indian takeaway, they dine sitting on the floor at Arthur's coffee table, Iggy periodically rubbing himself against Gwen's back.

She stretches, her back stiffening from the work today followed by sitting on the floor.

"All right there, Sweet?" Arthur asks, speaking for the first time in a while. Gwen had been trying not to notice that he'd gone gradually quieter as the evening has worn on, but they'd been sitting and eating in an unusual silence for the past ten minutes and when he spoke, she nearly jumped.

"Yeah, I guess. Just a little stiff."

"Can I get you anything?"

"I'd actually love a hot bath, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. I'll just paint while you're in there. Unless you want some company," he smiles, but his eyes didn't appear to get the memo.

"I don't think there's enough room, darling."

"Right. Go ahead. I'll clear this away," he says.

She stands and heads toward the bathroom. As she approaches the door, she hears a heavy sigh behind her and she turns. Arthur is clearing their dinner, his face clouded and a little sad. There is something else there, something she can't put her finger on.

 _Disappointment? Frustration? Is he upset about what happened outside before, that I yelled at him in front of his friends?_ She almost walks back to ask, but then he disappears into the kitchen and she decides to leave him alone for a bit, and if he's still brooding when she is done with her bath, she'll ask then.

Half an hour later, Gwen emerges from the bathroom, feeling warm and relaxed, but a little disappointed that Arthur didn't come in to visit her even once. She wanders out, clad in his Sex Pistols t-shirt, and sees him at his easel.

He's wearing shorts and a light blue paint-spattered t-shirt that says, "World's Greatest Granddad" on it. Her amusement is cut off, however, by the expression on his face.

Arthur is scowling, which isn't terribly unusual when he's painting, but there's a deeper sadness to it, a heaviness to his entire bearing that gives Guinevere pause.

She crosses to him on silent feet and watches him work for a minute. He is working on a painting she has never seen, a portrait of a man, a scruffy, unkempt, unshaven, dirty man, seated on the sidewalk against a building, one leg bent with his knee pointing up, the other stretched out in front of him. It is both grotesque and beautiful.

"Who is that?" she asks quietly.

"Jeff. He passes by the shop occasionally."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't think he has a home. Sometimes we give him a sandwich or something warm to drink when it's cold. Sometimes a couple quid. Let him come in and warm up in the winter if he needs it."

"Oh."

"He doesn't say much. I don't know if he's all there, mentally. Phil looks after him the most of all of us."

"I knew she had a good heart."

He touches the brush to the canvas then, making a small mark. "Fuck," he curses, reaching for a rag. _I don't see anything wrong,_ she thinks, watching as he just barely dips a tiny corner of the rag into a jar containing a clear fluid and dabs gently at the canvas, removing the mark.

"Arthur, what's wrong?" Gwen asks quietly, placing her hand on his as he reaches for his brush again.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it," he says, stubbornly picking up the brush.

"It's something," she protests, gently removing the brush from his hand and setting it back down. When he lets her take his brush away, she knows her instincts are correct.

He drops his head and sighs. She takes his hand again and turns him towards her, wrapping her arms around him. He slumps into her, his head on her shoulder.

"I'm jealous," he finally says into her neck, his voice muffled.

"What?" she asks, and he lifts his head.

"I'm jealous. I'm happy for you and Merlin, thrilled beyond measure, honest, but there's an ever-growing part of me that is jealous of your successes. Especially Merlin's. I'm bloody jealous and it's making me feel selfish and small, which is making me angry. No. Disappointed. Fucking disgusted. With myself."

"Oh, Arthur," she sighs, squeezing him tightly. _What on earth can I say to that?_ She releases him and pulls him from his easel, heading for the couch.

"Hang on, this thing is filthy," he says, yanking the shirt off over his head and tossing it on a nearby stool. He follows her to the sofa, where she pulls him down in front of her, nestling him in between her legs as she sits sideways on the couch, his back against her chest.

Iggy leaps up, wanting to be part of the pile, and pads around on Arthur's lap until he finds the spot he wants, curling up and settling in. Arthur's hand reaches up and actually pets the large beast rather than swatting him away, absently scratching him behind the ears while he sinks into Gwen's loving embrace.

"Your time will come, darling," she says finally, kissing his ear. "I don't know when, but it will happen for you. I know it. I can feel it in my bones. You just have to have faith."

"That all sounds good, but in practice, it's very difficult," he says, but not unkindly.

"I know," she admits. "I wish I had some way of helping. You know, like I did with Ox and Merlin. My limited connections have been exhausted, it seems."

"I know, Sweet, I know. I…" he trails off, either not knowing what to say or deciding if he should say it.

"Yes?"

"I want to be more than just a tattoo artist."

"I know that."

"No, you don't understand," he says, turning his face slightly. "You deserve better than what I can give you."

"What are you saying, Arthur?" she asks, getting a little scared now.

"I want to be better not only for me, but for you as well. Your father—"

"Let me worry about my father," she interrupts, slightly relieved.

"But he's right."

"What did he say to you on Sunday?" she asks again. "I know you weren't being straight when you answered me the first time."

"He told me that I was smarter than I looked and reminded me that I need to think about my future," he says. "Our future," he adds, so soft that she almost doesn't hear it.

Almost. Her heart thumps madly at the words, but she holds back the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him and hug him and leap around the room and proclaim her love for him from the mountaintops. _Perhaps later._

Gwen knows there is more to his conversation with her father, but he isn't saying. She doesn't press.

"Do you have any ideas?" she asks after a time, her fingertips stroking his cheek.

"All I want to do is paint. I don't want to design adverts or teach classes. Well, teaching wouldn't be too bad, but not right now. I've got the paintings. I've got the talent. I just don't know what to _do_ with them," he says, his free hand on her knee where his thumb traces small nervous circles on her skin.

She thinks a moment. "Well, what are some ways to get your work seen?"

"I am not setting up a stand in the marketplace," he says, vetoing that option immediately. "Not standing out there in the weather with the weirdos and the hippies."

Gwen chuckles at this, wondering what kind of person would qualify as a "weirdo" in Arthur Pendragon's book. "Have you asked Gwaine about putting a few paintings up in the shop? Or Leon about the pub?"

"Do you honestly think the kind of clientele that patronizes those places is interested in buying art?" he asks, turning his head to look at her.

"Good point," she says, frowning, leaning her cheek on his head for a moment. The stubble on the side of his head scratches her cheek, though, and she lifts it. "Well, I did say I wanted a couple for my office. Oh! And I will bet you £500 that Merlin will want you to design his book covers."

He sits up slightly at this thought. "Interesting thought. I bet I could do that. I'd have to read the books, though, wouldn't I?"

She laughs. "Probably. How else would you know what to do?"

"You could tell me," he says, settling back in, feeling a tiny bit better, letting her warmth and love pull him out of his funk. "I'm sorry, Guinevere," he says after a minute.

"For what?"

"For acting a twat. I am very happy for you, Sweet, you know that. Proud of you, actually."

"I couldn't have done it without you pushing me, Arthur."

"Yes, you could have. And I didn't push. I nudged."

She laughs. "Okay, then I _wouldn't_ have. And there is still no need to apologize. There is nothing wrong with how you are feeling."

"I do feel a bit better talking to you. At least I got it out," he admits.

"Yes, that in itself helps, sometimes. Just in time, too, since we're having dinner to celebrate tomorrow."

"That could have been ugly," he chuckles now, and she squeezes him in her arms as best she can and kisses his head.

xXx

"Freya's definitely in for tomorrow, then?" Arthur asks later. They are in bed together, just lying in each other's arms, cuddling and talking and occasionally kissing.

"Yeah, I had to lie a bit, though. Told her that it was just the two of us."

"Oh?"

"Well, she's been on pins and needles since I told her the Merlin asked for her number Saturday," she says, bringing her hand up to rest on his chest.

"He did? I didn't know that," Arthur says, placing his hand over hers.

"Yeah, he was very surreptitious about it. God, I still haven't given her the souvenirs I brought her from my trip," she says. "I'm a bad friend," she adds, chuckling and turning her face into his shoulder.

"You are not. So Merlin's had her number and he hasn't called her yet?"

"I guess not."

"Coward. He knows she likes him." Arthur is incredulous. "Been living with Leon too long; it's rubbing off on him," he mutters. "You should give Freya _his_ number."

"Yeah, I don't think that would solve anything. She won't call him first."

"Why not? Aren't you women all about equality and independence these days?"

"Well, yes, but she still wants to be pursued, I guess. Besides, they'll be _seeing_ each other tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, that's right," he chuckles, threading his fingers through hers on his chest, moving their joined hands slightly.

"So I'll be picking her up and we'll meet you there. We have reservations for seven."

"Seven. Right."

"Don't be late."

"Am I ever?"

"No."

"What should I tell Merlin?"

"About what?" she asks, yawning. He brings his free hand to her waist, worming his hand against her skin, shoving the t-shirt she is still wearing up out of the way.

"About why you're meeting us there."

"I was detained at work?"

"Sure, why not. He's gullible."

"He's smarter than you give him credit for."

"I know. He's brilliant and so are you and it's unfair to the rest of us who are just average," he jokes, able to poke fun at his earlier dismay.

Gwen turns and bites his shoulder in response.

"Hey!" he laughs, squeezing her waist.

"So you're feeling better, then?" she asks.

"Yes, thank you for listening to me."

"Anytime, Arthur," she says sleepily, closing her eyes now. She feels his heartbeat under her palm, steady and strong, and as she drifts off to sleep, she realizes he's moved their joined hands over his heart.

xXx

Arthur and Merlin are waiting for Gwen (and Freya, though Merlin doesn't know that yet) outside Szechuan Palace. It is 6:55.

"And she told _me_ not to be late," Arthur grumbles, looking at his watch.

"She's not late, Drag, she still has five minutes," Merlin says. A green Mini catches his eye, and he points. "Isn't that her car?"

Arthur looks. "Yep, come on," he says, starting to walk to the car to meet her.

They are almost to the car when the women get out. Freya turns and spots Merlin immediately and freezes, her eyes darting to Gwen.

"You did not," she says, incredulous.

Gwen smiles, and simply says, "Come on, chicken, let's go have our double date."

"You did."

"Of course I did."

"Cow."

"You love me," Gwen responds.

"And for that, you should be grateful, as I will spare your life. I look like complete shit!"

"You look gorgeous, shut it. Look how he's looking at you, for goodness sake."

Merlin stops walking when he sees Gwen has brought Freya along.

Arthur turns around and smirks at his friend. "Are you coming or are you going to wait until you are hit by a car?"

"You planned this. Gwen didn't have to work late," Merlin says, feet starting to move again.

"Of course she didn't. If you had used that phone number she gave you on Saturday we wouldn't have had to resort to these measures. So you've no right to complain."

"I bloody well, do! I'm completely unprepared!" Merlin is whispering frantically now. "I would have brought flowers or something! Now you're making me look like a pillock!"

"She didn't know, either, so I think you're in the clear. Stop freaking out," Arthur says. "And you don't need my help in looking like a pillock," he adds, just as they reach Gwen and Freya.

"Hi," Gwen says, throwing her arms around Arthur's neck and giving him a quick kiss.

"Hi, yourself," he purrs back at her. A still-irritated Merlin noisily clears his throat behind him.

"Ah, Merlin, you remember Freya," Gwen smiles, pulling away from Arthur.

"Of course," he says, stepping forward to grasp her hand. _Remember? I haven't been able to stop thinking about her._

"Hi, Merlin," Freya says, smiling and then looking away bashfully as he continues to hold her hand.

 _That little flirt,_ Gwen thinks, smiling.

"Oh, sorry," Merlin says, and gently releases her hand.

"Is anyone hungry? I'm hungry," Arthur announces and starts walking back toward the restaurant, Gwen's hand in his. Gwen nabs Freya's elbow with her other arm, pulling her along with them. Merlin stands there blinking for a moment, then jogs to catch them up.

xXx

They order several dishes and all share, discovering one another's likes and dislikes as they end up redistributing key ingredients. Gwen cannot stomach bamboo shoots. Merlin collects all the mushrooms he can. Arthur hoards snow pea pods like they were candy, and Freya will not touch onions or water chestnuts, claiming their crunchiness is off-putting.

"So what's wrong with bamboo shoots?" Merlin asks, happily popping one in his mouth.

Gwen laughs. "I used to play saxophone when I was a kid. Badly, I might add. The bamboo shoots taste too much like saxophone reeds."

Merlin and Arthur both give her puzzled looks. "That has got to be the oddest reason I've ever heard for someone not liking a food," Merlin says.

"What, and Freya's 'off-putting crunchiness' reason is just fine?" Gwen protests, pointing.

"Yes, I can support that reason," Merlin says with a nod, purposely eating another bamboo shoot.

"Of course you can," Arthur teases knowingly, and Merlin shoots him a quick glare across the table.

"So Merlin, Gwen tells me that you're going to be a published novelist?" Freya changes the subject, reaching for the teapot to top up her cup.

"Yes, that's what we're celebrating tonight," he smiles. "That, and Gwen's promotion," he nods to Gwen, who salutes him with a piece of sesame chicken on the end of her fork.

"And now what happens? She's read your novel and edited it. What's the next step?"

Merlin is thrilled she is so interested in his work. "Well, I have to make the corrections and edits to my manuscript, and then she has to read it again."

"Wow, that's a lot of work," she says, touching his hand very briefly.

"Not when it's something you enjoy," he smiles. "Oh, Gwen, I wanted to tell you, I'm going to make one small change. Nothing that will alter the course of the overall story, I promise. I'm just changing how one of the characters looks physically."

"Oh? Which one? Not Rylan or Prince Drake, I hope," she smiles.

"You caught that, huh?" he grins sheepishly.

"What?" Freya and Arthur both ask.

"Rylan is Merlin and Prince Drake is Arthur," Gwen explains.

"Interesting," Freya says. "I'm going to have to read this book when it comes out."

"I'll make sure you get a first-edition, autographed copy," Merlin says, and is rewarded with a smile from Freya that lights up his face.

"So who are you changing?" Gwen asks.

"Evelyn."

"The maid?"

"Yep. I'm changing her from a tall, fair-skinned beauty with auburn hair to a petite brown-skinned beauty with long dark curls."

"What?" _But doesn't she have a crush on Rylan?_

"Don't panic, it'll all make sense. You'll have to read the second book."

"Wait, so she and Rylan don't end up together? But it's so obvious they fancy one another. And she kissed him!"

Merlin laughs; Arthur chokes on his tea. "Misdirection, my dear. And she only kissed him because he just woke up from being almost dead for like a whole day."

"Yeah, that's what she _said,_ but…"

"Gwen. Read the second book."

"I have to finish Marcus' piece of shit first," she pouts. "Can you give me a tiny hint?"

"Okay: It's _appropriate_ that I'm changing how Evelyn looks."

"You are a gigantic pain."

"Don't listen to her, I'm very sweet," Merlin tells Freya, who has been laughing quietly at their conversation for a few minutes now.

"Where do you work, Freya?" Merlin asks, realizing he knows almost nothing about her.

"Albion Bank," she says, frowning. "I'm a teller."

"For now," Gwen adds.

"Oh, are you looking for something different?"

"Kind of. My boss is a wanker, and this is going to sound bad, but I didn't bust my ass to get my Finance degree—"

"With honors," Gwen interjects.

"To be working as a bloody bank teller," she finishes with a sigh.

"Finance, eh?" Merlin asks, giving Arthur a sideways look.

"Freya is amazing with numbers. She's like a calculator. Give her two numbers to multiply," Gwen prompts.

"Okay, 312 times 47," Merlin says.

"14,664," Freya answers immediately.

"Shit," Arthur chuckles, impressed.

"Wow," Merlin comments. "You know, it's really too bad…"

"Don't even, Merlin," Arthur warns.

"What?" Freya asks, confused.

"Arthur's dad is Uther Pendragon," Merlin explains. "I was just lamenting that if Arthur were on better terms with his father, he could perhaps get you an interview or something."

"Oh," Freya blinks in surprise.

"Not really much you can say to that, is there?" Gwen says with a sympathetic smile.

"Well, there is Morgana; she'd listen to me," Arthur says. "But that's the Glasgow office."

"Not moving to Glasgow. Who's Morgana?" Freya asks.

"His sister. Or his motorcycle, but I'm assuming he means his sister in this case," Merlin says. "She runs the Glasgow office of Pendragon Financial."

"Maybe you could talk to Morgana and have her talk to your father?" Gwen suggests.

"Whoa, whoa, let's not plan my life for me, okay?" Freya holds her hands up, but she is laughing.

"Sorry, Fray, I just hate that you hate your job," Gwen says.

"I know, I know. But this evening is not about fixing my lousy job, remember?"

After fortune cookies are forced into their already-full bellies, they head outside.

"Pub?" Arthur asks.

"What pub?" Freya asks in response.

"The Dragon's Head. It's where I work. For now," Merlin says.

"I'd love to see it," she says.

"Fray, why don't you ride with Merlin," Gwen suggests, handing her car keys to Arthur as she pulls him to her Mini, giggling as they head quickly away, leaving Merlin and Freya standing alone in the parking lot with no other option.


	27. Chapter 27

When they enter the pub, a very strange scene greets them. Phil is there, which is unusual in itself. She is seated at a table, and there is a cast from her toes to just below the knee of her right leg. The casted foot is elevated and is being cradled gently in Leon's lap as he sits opposite her at the table. And they appear to be having a very nice and very intimate conversation.

"…The fuck?" is all that Arthur can manage as they stare.

"Gwen, what's going on? Why are we just standing here?" Freya whispers.

"It's a really long story. I'll have to catch you up later," Gwen explains, smiling broadly, wondering what on earth happened while they were away.

Leon looks up and over at them, blushes, grins, and then returns his attention to Phil, shyly taking her hand in his now.

She lets him, and Merlin says, "I need a drink."

There are no empty tables, so Arthur approaches one where a man is sitting, alone and nearly unconscious. "Oi, Tony. Push off, we want the table," he says, hauling the man up by his shoulder and passing him to Justin, who came over to help.

"Call him a taxi, mate, he's done," Arthur says, and Justin nods as he takes Tony to the door. Merlin has grabbed a cloth and wipes the table and the chairs before pulling one out for Freya. She smiles at him and sits.

Merlin and Arthur go to the bar to get them drinks, and that's when Gwaine decides to saunter over and introduce himself.

"Well, well, the Sparrow has brought a friend with her," he purrs, sitting in Merlin's chair. "So, little mousie, what is your name?" He leans against the table, angling towards Freya.

"Gwaine, this is my friend Freya. Freya, this is Gwaine, a semi-harmless scoundrel who owns the tattoo parlor next door where Arthur works."

"Nice to meet you," Freya says as Gwaine takes her hand and kisses it, following with his best smolder, looking directly into her eyes in that way he has.

Merlin is scowling as he and Arthur approach, looking daggers at Gwaine as he kisses Freya's hand.

But Freya is giving Gwen a look that clearly says _is this bloke for real?_ and Merlin's face relaxes.

"Looks like someone's beaten me to it, hey?" Gwaine asks Gwen.

"Move it," Merlin says, setting their glasses down.

Gwaine sighs and pulls up another chair, next to Gwen now.

"So spill. What the hell happened?" Gwen asks him, nodding towards Leon and Phyllis.

"Oh, God, this has been a hell of a night, let me tell you…"

_Phil closes the door to the flat above the tattoo shop that she shares with Gwaine and heads down the stairwell, fumbling with her keys as she heads out to grab a bite to eat. Five steps from the bottom, her tangled keys drop from her hand, and, cursing quietly, she bends to retrieve them, not paying much attention to what her feet are doing. She misses the step and falls, tumbling down the last bit, turning her foot painfully beneath her in the process._

_"Fuck!" she yells, the pain in her ankle like a hot knife. "I need this, too," she says sarcastically. "Fucking shit."_

_She tries to stand, but it is immediately clear that her injured ankle will bear no weight, and the pain is making her feel a little nauseous. She sits back down._

_"Leon!" she yells, knowing he is up there, across the corridor, in his flat. "Leon!" she tries again, louder. "Leon, you wanker, come and help me!"_

_She stops yelling for a moment to will the tears away, determined that whoever finds her will_ not _find her crying._

_"LEON!"_

_A few seconds later, she hears the door open, and his puzzled face appears at the top of their shared stairwell._

_"Oh, shit, hang on," he immediately says, disappearing again._

_"Where are you going?" she yells, frustrated and angry._

_"Shoes!" she hears him yell back. He reappears a moment later and flies down the stairs._

_"What happened?" he gasps, stupidly._

_"I fell down the bloody stairs. What the fuck do you think happened?" she asks crossly._

_"Sorry," he apologizes. "Where are you hurt?"_

_"Ankle. Hurts like a bitch."_

_"Here," Leon bends down and he is about to help her up when he spies her keys. "Ah, I presume these are responsible?" he asks, handing them to her._

_"Yes," she snaps, taking them and stuffing them in her bag._

_He helps her to her feet, his arm around her waist. She wobbles and closes her eyes._

_"No good. Dizzy as hell."_

_"Did you hit your head?"_

_"No, don't think so. The fucking pain from my fucking ankle is making me fucking ill."_

_"We need to get you to hospital, I think. Get you an x-ray," Leon says, bending again to lift her in his arms._

_"Whoa," she says, blinking in surprise at how strong the slender man is._

_Leon stands a moment, thinking._ My car is too far away. Wow, I never noticed how green her eyes are.

 _"Um, Leon?" she says, gingerly bringing her arm up around his neck, holding on. The action brings her closer to him, and she momentarily forgets about the pain in her leg._ He smells really good, _she thinks, resisting the urge to lean in closer and press her nose into his neck._

_"Right. Thinking," he says, and he starts to the door. "My car is down the street, so I'll have to set you down and go get it."_

_She reaches down and turns the knob on the door, and he pushes it open with his foot, carefully stepping through sideways so as not to bump her._

_He walks to the door of the pub, and a very surprised-looking Justin quickly opens the door._

_Gwaine's head immediately snaps up when they come in. "What happened?" he asks, knowing that the only way his sister would allow herself to be carried is if she couldn't walk._

_"I fell down the fucking stairs," she says angrily, blinking back tears again, now as much from embarrassment as anything else._

_"She may have broken her ankle," Leon says, carefully setting her in a chair that Gwaine has pulled out. He hovers close, not really wanting to leave her to go get his car._

_Gwaine kneels down next to his sister, concern clearly etched on his face. "Did you trip on something? I didn't leave my boots out there or anything, did I?"_

_"No, I dropped my bloody keys and fell when I tried to pick them up. Just down the last bit. I didn't fall the whole way," she says, wincing as she tries to find a comfortable position._

_"I'll go get my car," Leon says, but then Phil grabs his hand._

_"Can you send someone to get it?" she asks, her voice very quiet._

_"Justin," Leon calls immediately. "Go get my car, mate," he says, tossing his keys._

_"Where is it?"_

_"Down the block, that way," Leon points._

_Justin leaves, and Leon pulls up a chair next to Phil._

_"We should try and get this boot off," Gwaine says, sitting cross-legged on the sticky pub floor. He carefully pulls his sister's foot into his lap and starts to unlace her boot._

_"No, leave it," she protests, hissing in pain as he works._

_"Philly, it's either we take it off here, now, or they cut the sodding thing off of you in the emergency room," he says, flipping his hair out of the way to look up at her._

_"Fine. And don't call me 'Philly,'" she scowls._

_Gwaine smirks and goes back to unlacing her boot, and she reaches for Leon's hand again, squeezing it hard. He clenches his jaw, both from her surprisingly strong grip and his hating to see her in pain. He watches Gwaine, who is not merely untying and loosening the laces, but is pulling them free from the eyelets, opening the boot as wide as he can._

_As Leon watches Gwaine gently and carefully remove the boot from her swollen and painful foot, seeing the determination and concern in his friend's normally relaxed face, he realizes for the first time that Gwaine truly loves his sister._

_Justin comes back in and shouts to Leon that his car is right outside. Leon stands again, he and Gwaine lift Phil from her chair, and she totters between them on one foot. She loops one arm around her brother's shoulders and the other around Leon's waist, as his shoulders are too high. They get her outside and into the passenger seat of Leon's car._

_"I'm coming, too," says Gwaine, and he jogs around to the driver's side and climbs into the back seat._

_Leon looks over at Phil and slowly reaches over to wipe a tear hovering at the very corner of her eye before he shifts the car into drive and peels out for the hospital._

"And they've been secluded over in that corner since we got back," Gwaine concludes, glancing over there with just the slightest hint of a scowl.

"Gwaine, you know he'll take good care of her," Gwen says, placing her hand on his arm.

"I know. But she's still my little sister, you know? Since our folks died I've been looking after her."

"Well, it looks like it's time to let someone else take over that responsibility, mate," Arthur chuckles. "Come on, Gwaine, it's not like this is a surprise. You've known for ages that he liked her."

"Yeah," he admits.

"And she could do a hell of a lot worse that Leon," Ox pipes in, pulling up his own chair.

"Right," Arthur nods.

Gwaine looks over at Freya and Merlin. They each have one hand on the table, and their other hands, the ones between them, are below. It appears as though Merlin is holding her hand in his lap.

"Blimey, everyone seems to be pairing off. What the hell is this?" he suddenly exclaims, looking around. Drag and Gwen. Merlin and Freya. Leon and Phyllis.

Impulsively, he leaps from his chair and plants himself in Ox's lap, declaring, "I guess that leaves you and me, then, big boy."

"Get off me, you wank," Ox complains, shoving Gwaine. He falls to the floor amid a chorus of laughter.

Leon looks over at them, shakes his head, and turns his attention back to Phil.

"Ox, this is my friend Freya," Gwen introduces them, and shakes his hand, surprised at how her bones are not crushed within his massive hand.

"The policeman?" she guesses.

"In training," he says, sitting a bit straighter in his chair.

"All right, all right, enough posturing," Gwaine says, ineffectively shoving at Ox's shoulder.

They all laugh again, and Gwen looks over at Leon and Phil. "That must be some conversation they're having."

xXx

"So that's why you haven't tried? Because of that bitch Marisol?" Phil asks, finally learning why Leon had never asked her out if he's liked her for so long.

"It was quite a blow, you know? Felt like… I don't know. Like I didn't know… like I couldn't trust my own feelings any more."

Phil looks down at her lap, at her destroyed jeans, cut off at one knee to allow for the cast. _Those people have no consideration for fashion._ "When you came back from Spain, I… I wanted to hop the next plane over there, find her, and… _cut_ her," she quietly admits, not looking up.

"You did?" he asks, puzzling over this surprise.

"You didn't deserve what she did to you. No one does, but especially not you. You're a… a really good man, Leon."

He winces slightly, feeling that this may be code for being friend-zoned.

"No, really. She was a complete twat with no consideration for others. And from what I've seen over the last few years," she pauses, "you do nothing but be considerate of others." She finally looks up at him again.

"And look where it got me," he frowns.

"Here. And here isn't so bad, is it?"

He caresses the back of her hand with his thumb and says, "Not at the moment, no."

She smiles one of her rare smiles, and says, "Look. I'm not friendly and I'm not even particularly nice. But I know I have a good heart. I may not even be beautiful or charming, but at least I'm not a gold-digging, two-timing _slut._ I have morals."

"You're wrong about a couple things, there," Leon says, leaning in a little closer, careful not to jostle her foot too much.

"Am I, now?"

"You are beautiful, Phyllis. And charming. And nice."

"That's three things," she corrects, suddenly feeling quite warm as his blue eyes gaze intently into hers.

"Don't argue when I'm complimenting you," he chuckles, lifting his other hand hesitantly to stroke her cheek once.

"Thank you. For thinking I'm beautiful," she says, looking down again. "No one has ever called me that before."

"Get used to it," he smiles, lifting the hand he is holding and pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Doubtful, but maybe if I hear it enough…" she smiles again, this time broader with an impish glint to it.

Leon's eyebrows rise. "Are you actually teasing me?"

"Certainly not," she deadpans, glancing over to see Gwen approaching. "Hey, Girlie," she greets her.

"Phil, Gwaine told us what happened, are you all right?"

"I'll live," she shrugs. "Going to be an interesting month."

"They wrecked your jeans," Gwen notices, frowning.

"I know. Bollocks, that. I don't really know what I'm going to bloody wear."

"You don't have any shorts? Sweats? God forbid, skirts?"

"No skirts. Maybe I can borrow some of Gwaine's joggers or something. I don't really have any shorts. Well, I will if I lop of the other leg of these things. Hell, I don't even know how I'm going to get these off," she muses, wondering if they'll fit over the cast or if she'll have to completely destroy them.

"Not even any sleep shorts?" Gwen asks, ideas formulating in her brain now.

"I, um, don't wear any…" she says, avoiding looking at Leon. "Just a shirt and my knickers, usually." _If that much,_ she thinks, but decides not to say it.

Leon blushes furiously and studies his fingernails.

"I might have some things you can borrow. Or I could make you something, I'm a whiz with a sewing machine."

"Really? You… you would do that for me?"

"Of course. On one condition, though."

"What's that?"

"You let me sign your cast."

"You want to sign my cast?"

"Well, _yeah._ That's what you do when your friend has a big shitty cast on, you decorate it for them so they don't feel so bad about having to wear it," she says, smiling.

Arthur has wandered over now. "Hey. Fucking ankle, huh?"

"Fucking _staircase,_ " Phil corrects.

"And don't forget the keys," Leon adds.

"I don't have a pen," Phil suddenly says.

"Why do you need a pen?" Arthur asks.

"I want to sign her cast," Gwen looks at him.

"Oh. Hang on a tic," Arthur jogs off, disappearing through the door behind the bar that leads to the kitchen.

Three minutes later he is back with a flat box.

"Hey, those are mine!" Gwaine yells, standing and intercepting Arthur.

"Yeah, and we're going to use them on your _sister's_ cast. I'm inspired, so sod off," Arthur brushes past Gwaine, who follows him.

Arthur opens the box to reveal a selection of colored marking pens.

"My idea, me first," Gwen says, choosing a purple marker. "These aren't going to get all smudgy, are they?"

"They're permanent," Gwaine says, "and very expensive," he scowls.

"I'm not going to chew on the cap or anything," she rolls her eyes at him.

"Stay away from this area _here,_ " Arthur indicates the area around the bottom of the cast, just about Phil's foot.

"What, you're staking a claim now?"

"Of course I am. I have a plan."

Gwen sighs and bends down, grumbling something about "Bloody alpha male," and "why don't you just pee on it," under her breath. Phil is the only one who really hears it and she laughs. It is a surprisingly loud laugh, and heads turn.

"There," Gwen says, standing and putting the pen carefully back into the box.

Phil leans over and reads, "Next time, use the lift. –G." She chuckles, and Arthur steps over, lifting her casted foot carefully from Leon's lap.

"I need your chair, Leon," Arthur explains, and Leon reluctantly stands. Arthur sits and holds her cast in his own lap now, setting the markers on the table and going to work. Leon pulls up another chair and sits beside Phil, taking her hand again while they all watch Arthur draw.

Merlin and Freya come over to watch, their hands intertwined still.

"Wow, he's really good," Freya says to Merlin as she sees a dragon come to life, black and purple and green, wrapping around the base of Phil's cast. "It looks like it's…"

"Moving," Merlin finishes. "He's bloody brilliant, I know."

"Why isn't he…?"

"We don't know. Not enough exposure in the right places, I guess. I'm sure the wheels in Gwen's head have been turning for weeks over it, though," Merlin chuckles.

"Undoubtedly," Freya agrees, and shifts closer to him. Grinning ridiculously, Merlin releases her hand and wraps his arm around her.

Phil leans in to see what Arthur is doing. "Wicked, Drag, thanks," she says, impressed.

"Hey, like Gwaine said: We're family, Phil. Besides, this thing was too _white._ " He picks out a red marker, then an orange one and then yellow. Holding all three pens at once and switching back and forth between them, he draws a plume of fire emanating from the dragon's mouth.

"Drag, you're taking up too much bloody space!" Gwaine complains. "Leave some for the rest of us!"

"Shove off, she likes it. And you've got plenty of room to mark the X that signifies your name."

The lads laugh as Gwaine scowls and fidgets, waiting his turn.

"Almost done," Arthur finishes the green tip of the dragon's tail with a flourish, then takes the black pen. Down at the very bottom, just above where Phil's still swollen and slightly blue toes are peeking out, he writes, "Leon: These go in your mouth" with an arrow pointing to the tiny digits.

"There," he declares. "Next?" he calls, as if he worked at a butcher's shop.

"Me. Gimme." Gwaine leaps over, and Arthur carefully makes the transfer to Gwaine. He sits and leans over her cast, drawing with a brown marker on the side.

Phil leans over again and this time she groans. "Gwaine…"

"What? You love Otto."

"Yeah, when I was ten."

"You still love him."

"Who is Otto?" Leon asks.

"A cartoon otter that Gwaine used to draw for me when we were kids," Phil explains reluctantly.

"She likes otters," Gwaine plainly says. "Says they're cute."

Everyone stares at the revelation.

"Piss off," Phil snaps. "I'm allowed to like something cute, so you lot can fuck right off if you don't like it."

"I think otters are fabulous," Gwen immediately says. "And they are really cute. I love watching them at the zoo."

"They are cool," Leon pipes up.

"Nothing wrong with otters. Nothing at all," Ox adds, leaning in to look at the drawing. "Gwaine, you are a nutter."

"What's he done now?" Phil asks.

"The otter has a cast on his leg, too."

Phil groans again, dropping her head onto Leon's shoulder, again surprising them all. Especially Leon.

"Phil, this is Freya," Merlin introduces her as he bends to write on the cast. "Freya, this is Phyllis."

"Nice to meet you. Sorry about your leg," Freya says, reaching down to touch the other woman's arm.

Phil shrugs. "It happens, thanks. And it got Chicken Man here off his arse to finally admit he liked me," she adds quietly.

"Silver lining, then," Freya smiles. "Um, can I sign? I know we just met and everything, but I hope to be around more…" she leaves the words hanging, glancing at Merlin.

"Definitely," Merlin says, handing her the pen.

"Sure you can sign," Phil says, looking down. _Holy shit._ "If you can find a place."

Freya smiles, and finds a small spot. She chooses an orange marker and writes, "Nice to meet you. Get well soon, Freya" on the cast.

Everyone gets their turn signing Phyllis' cast, even Justin and Craig, the other barman, and a few other regular pub patrons. Phil is a little overwhelmed that they all want to come and wish her well, muttering, "Maybe I should have broken something sooner."

"No, dear, you just needed to let them get to know you a little bit," Gwen says quietly, touching her on the shoulder. "But when you hang around mostly blokes, you can't have your expectations very high, can you?" she adds with a chuckle, brining a smile to Phil's face as well.

xXx

"Did you hear what Merlin said?" Gwen asks Arthur as they enter her flat.

"About what?" He tosses her keys on the table.

"He told Freya that she was 'on the way' when he offered to take her home."

Arthur laughs. "He doesn't even know where she lives. Not only that," he pulls his boots off, setting them by the door, "he bloody lives above the pub."

"I know," Gwen laughs, kicking her own shoes off. "I hope she gets the truth out of him, because he'll turn all cute and red like he does." She is walking down the hall, undressing as she goes.

Arthur groans low in his throat and follows like a man under a spell, collecting garments on the way back to her bedroom.

Hands full by the time he reaches her room, he stands and stares a moment as she calmly pulls back the covers to the bed and reclines languidly on it, a glint in her eye and a challenge on her face.

"Um," Arthur looks around, forgetting where her hamper is. _Right. Over there._ He walks over to it, eyes locked on her. He drops her clothes in the hamper, missing it almost completely, and walks to the bed, pulling his shirt off.

He sits on the bed, and Gwen lifts her foot up and presses it against his side, curling her toes into his skin.

"Oh," he grunts, reaching for it and kissing it before releasing it so he can remove his trousers.

In a flash he is back on the bed with her, lifting her foot again to his lips, kissing each toe, his thumbs kneading her muscles. She reaches over and places her hand on his leg, caressing his knee and sliding it higher, to his thigh, her fingers persuading him to move closer.

"I want to touch you," she says softly, her voice reaching that sultry tone that he loves.

"Mmm," he hums his assent into her foot as he sucks her delicious little toes, scooting closer so she can reach him. He slides his tongue up her arch, kissing it, nibbling the side.

Gwen yelps when his teeth make contact. "Tickles," she protests.

He just chuckles and does it again. This time he is rewarded by her hand squeezing his shaft, and he grunts again.

Arthur switches to her other foot, always wanting to give equal time, and he closes his eyes as he places small open-mouthed kisses all over her foot while Gwen strokes him.

While he runs his tongue around her toes, he feels her shift her body, bending her knee.

"Bloody…" the curse dies on his lips as he feels her lips close over him, slipping his length in and out of the warmth of her mouth. He almost forgets what he's doing for a moment, but then dives back in, relishing her, giving her foot a few final kisses and nibbles before releasing it.

He curses again and grabs her hips, lying back on the bed, pulling her over him so he can plunge his tongue into her.

She squeaks in surprise when he moves her, then releases his member to gasp as she feels his tongue on her, sliding around, giving her pleasure as she pleasures him.

Arthur swirls his tongue around her sensitive nub. Gwen swirls her tongue around the tip of his manhood. He plunges his tongue deep within her; she takes him as far as she can into her mouth. He suckles that little button; she very gently nibbles her way along the length of him. Back and forth, ante paid and upped, gauntlet thrown down and retrieved until they are both squirming and panting, Arthur thrusting his hips up into her mouth as Gwen presses hers down, practically grinding against his face.

"Guinevere," he pulls his lips away just to gasp her name, his voice hoarse, straining with his own desire.

"Don't stop, Arthur," she commands frantically, grabbing the base of him in her hand now before sucking him back in. Her fingers reach down and stroke him underneath while her mouth draws him in, tightly, almost forcefully and he can take no more, rushing forth into her mouth, hot and pungent down her throat.

Moments later Arthur, mindless now in the throes of his climax, slips two fingers into her as he works his tongue on her and that's all it takes for her to start gasping and crying out, her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his thigh as her head rests there. She turns her head and bites his leg as she comes, whimpering desperately.

Gwen collapses over him, moving slightly so she is not smothering his face. He rolls them, and rotates himself so his face is up on the pillows with her now. He kisses her gently, each tasting themselves on one another.

"Wow, did you plan that, Sweet?" he asks.

"Not really. I figured I'd just get naked and see what you'd do," she giggles.

He laughs, squeezing her to him, then reaching down to pull the blankets over them.

"Evening went well. I think Merlin and Freya really got on," Gwen says, kissing his shoulder.

"Yeah. Hate to use the word, but they were really cute together," Arthur laughs.

"And what about Phil and Leon? Good for them!" Gwen exclaims, lifting her head and smiling at him.

"Yeah, about bloody time," Arthur laughs. "I'm just glad she didn't shoot him down."

"She's really a good person, Arthur."

"I know she is. But I was afraid that she would keep that _wall_ up against him. The one that she uses to keep everyone at arm's length, you know."

"I think that wall is crumbling."

They lay quietly for a time, and Arthur reaches over to switch off the light. Gwen's fingers are light and comforting on his chest, and Arthur closes his eyes and slides his palms against her skin, pulling a contented sigh from her.

_Say it now, Clotpole._

"How long do you think it'll be before they get into a fistfight?" Arthur asks instead, losing his nerve.

"Who?"

"Leon and Gwaine."

Gwen shakes her head. "My money is on Phil punching Gwaine before Leon does."

Arthur laughs. "You're probably right, there. You usually are."


	28. Chapter 28

Saturday comes and Gwen leaves a pouting Arthur at his flat, promising to meet him and Merlin at the pub by one.

"Or two," she hedges. "Ish. I don't know how long we'll be. Freya is beginning to get a little anxious about her trip."

"Gee, don't know what _that's_ like," Arthur rolls his eyes.

Gwen punches him on the shoulder, gives him a thorough kiss that has him clutching at her sundress, and waves goodbye at him as she flounces out the door, blowing a kiss to Iggy on the way.

He sits and stares a moment, then stomps off to the shower. His body doesn't seem to want to accept that she's gone and he ends up spending part of his shower clutching himself, panting, with his head against the cool tile of the shower wall.

Gwen stops by her flat for five minutes, picking up her souvenirs for Freya and collecting a few items for Phil as well. She finds a few pairs of shorts, careful to stay to the dark colors, two pairs of sweats and at the last minute, she impulsively grabs a black skirt from a Halloween costume two years ago. She puts all these things in a bag and heads out.

"Ooo, presents," Freya gushes when Gwen arrives at her flat. "Finally," she teases.

"Well, I would have brought them Thursday, but I figured today would be easier. So," Gwen reaches down to the bottom of the bag, groping, "the important thing first." She pulls out a pen from the hotel.

"Yay! I can add Chicago to the collection!" Freya exclaims, setting the pen on her table until she can add it to her special box of hotel pens.

Gwen laughs, and shrugs. "Well, it's a cheap hobby, at least," she says, pulling out a refrigerator magnet with a photo of the Chicago skyline at sunset on it.

"Cool," Freya says, peering closely at it. She runs her thumb over the glossy surface, then trots to the kitchen and sticks it to her fridge.

"And, finally," Gwen now hands her the bag.

Freya reaches in a pulls out a stuffed bear dressed in a baseball jersey and cap.

"El took me to a baseball game. I got a t-shirt for myself, but he was too cute to not get for you."

Freya hugs the bear. "He's so cuddly," she declares, setting him on the couch.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Gwen now reaches into her purse and hands Freya a folded piece of paper.

"Oh, no…" Freya says. "He hasn't let it go, has he?" She opens the paper and reads, _My door is always open if you ever want to visit. –E._

"I'm hoping he mainly does it now just to tease you, but somehow I think if you showed up at his door unannounced one day he would definitely not turn you away," Gwen laughs.

"I never should have gone home with you that weekend," Freya laments, grabbing her purse now.

"He was a hormonal 16-year-old, what did you expect?" Gwen says as they walk back out to her car.

"Well I _certainly_ wasn't expecting him to show up at the guest room door in the middle of the night asking me if I wanted to make a man out of him," Freya laughs now, remembering skinny young Elyan trying to be suave.

Gwen laughs with her, closing her car door. "Where are we going?"

"Portabello," Freya declares.

"Of course."

They spend the morning poking in and out of shops, trying on clothes they don't need. Freya purchases a wide-brimmed hat, some new sunglasses, and some new clothes for her trip. Gwen finds herself mainly and almost inexplicably looking at shoes, not even realizing she's doing it until Freya busts her.

"Gwen! How many pairs of sandals are you going to look at?"

"What? I haven't looked at that many," she argues.

"Au contraire, you are simply _fixated_ on cute sandals today. And don't even pretend you don't know why," she challenges, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, God, I have been, haven't I?" she laughs suddenly, blushing a bit.

"Has he said it yet?"

"No," the smile falls from her face.

"He does though. It's totally obvious."

"I know," she sighs. "I think he came close to telling me a few times, but he always chickens out."

"So you say it first."

Gwen ponders this a moment. "I… I think I want to hear him say it first. I can't explain why. Just feeling old-fashioned about this particular detail, I guess," she says, picking up another sandal, a wedge-heeled espadrille with ties that wrap up around her calves, criss-cross style. Red ties.

"He would love these on me."

Freya groans as Gwen asks the clerk for her size.

xXx

"So what did Merlin say about your going to Venice?" Gwen asks as they walk down the road with their bags.

"He was okay with it. Said he'd be able to get some work done without feeling guilty about possibly ignoring me."

"Sounds like him. He's really great, you know."

Freya smiles. "I know."

"Did you find out where he lives before he took you home, by the way?" Gwen smirks.

"Yes, that little sneak! 'On the way,' indeed. Lives above the bloody pub," Freya laughs.

"So you like him, then?"

"You need to ask? Like you said, he's great. Not handsome in a traditional sense, but he's definitely cute. And charming. Smart. Which makes him even cuter. I don't know, there's something… magical about him, you know?"

"I got that, too, when I met him. You can't _not_ like him. He's like a puppy."

"A puppy?" Freya stops walking and looks at her friend.

"You know, cute, endearing, eager to please. And if you're lucky, maybe he'll nibble on you a bit," she grins.

"Guinevere!" Freya exclaims.

"I meant you, not me."

" _Obviously._ "

They cross at a crosswalk, hitting the next block.

"Hmm," Freya says, "I don't think there's much down here… hel _lo,_ what have we here?" she says, angling her head to admire a fit young man painting a doorframe in a storefront. It looks like a new establishment is opening on the block, and he's working on sprucing the place up to open.

"Fray," Gwen laughs. "Merlin," she reminds her.

"Hey, not official, though I would like that, and I'm definitely not dead," Freya defends herself.

Gwen laughs louder now, taking a look herself now. _Not bad,_ she allows.

Then the man turns his head as they approach.

"I'd know that laugh anywhere," he says, setting his brush down and looking fully at them. "Hey, Gwen."

"Lancelot, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Paris?" she asks, flabbergasted, rooted to the spot.

"Hello to you, too," he answers.

"Sorry, hello," she says, stepping over to hug him. "You remember Freya," she motions with her hand.

"Um, yeah, hi, Freya," he says, a little uneasily.

"Lance," she says coolly.

"I was in Paris. Then I was in New York. Now I'm back here," he explains. "Opening my own place, actually. Gallerie Etienne."

"Your own gallery?" Gwen asks, jaw dropping. _Bloody hell. Thank you Lord, for answering my prayers._ Freya is pulling urgently at her elbow now, and Gwen glances at her, raising her eyebrows. _Yes, I know!_

"Yep," he nods. "Named after—"

"Your father, of course," Gwen smiles.

"Thought it would be nice to honor him this way," he says. "And there is the whole name recognition thing, too, that I'm hoping will help."

"Shrewd," she says. "Um, Lance, I'd love to catch up, but Freya and I have to meet our boyfriends for lunch. Will you meet me for lunch on Monday?"

Lance's brow furrows, a bit puzzled. "Um, sure. What time?"

"12:30. Taliesin Publishing, do you know it?"

"Yeah."

"I'll meet you out front. Um, I… I actually have something I want to talk to you about," she confesses.

"Oh?"

"I'll explain Monday. Place looks great, by the way. Love the red door," she says. "See you Monday."

"'Bye," he says, still looking confused as the two women walk away.

"What was that about meeting our boyfriends for lunch?" Freya says quietly once they are out of earshot.

"A lie. We're having lunch alone. I told Arthur we'd meet them at the pub later."

"He's going to flip," Freya says.

"I'm not going to say anything until I talk to Lance on Monday. Don't want to get his hopes up if Lance isn't interested."

"Right."

"Hey, Fray?" Gwen asks.

"What?"

"You were checking out _Lancelot,_ " she teases, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Piss off. I didn't know it was him."

xXx

"Afternoon, Miss Gwen, Miss Freya," Justin greets them, opening the door for them.

"Hi, Justin," Gwen says, patting his arm as they pass.

"Bloody hell, Guinevere, where on earth did you find _those?_ " Arthur says immediately, pointing at her new sandals, which she put on in the car.

"Shop," she shrugs. "Do you like them?" she asks, stepping into his arms and looking up at him.

"You need to ask?" he purrs into her ear, kissing it once before moving to kiss her lips.

"Hi, Merlin," Freya says, sitting at the bar, ignoring Gwen and Arthur.

"Hi," he answers shyly back, biting his lower lip a second.

"Oh, just kiss her already and have done," Arthur calls, earning him a slap on the chest from Gwen.

Merlin leans across the bar and kisses Freya once, quickly but not too much so, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek lightly.

"There. Feel better?" Arthur asks again, enjoying watching his friend blush as he turns to get Freya a drink.

"Is Phil around?" Gwen asks Merlin, sitting next to Freya. "I have some things for her."

"She's in the kitchen with Leon," he pointedly says, looking over his shoulder at her.

Gwen smiles, and Merlin carefully pokes his head through the door, as if he is afraid of what he might interrupt.

"Sorry. Phil, Gwen is here. She says she has some things for you."

A minute later Leon opens the door and Phil comes through on her crutches, hobbling around the end of the bar to sit on a stool, wearing a pair of baggy sweats that surely belong to her brother, one leg shoved up above her cast. Leon brings over a chair for her to rest her foot on.

"How are you feeling?" Gwen asks. "Your toes aren't as blue," she observes.

"Yeah, that's something I guess. It doesn't hurt as much."

Gwen looks at Leon a moment. "Um, Leon?" she pointedly swipes her thumb along her own bottom lip, indicating he needs to do the same. Blushing, he picks up a cocktail napkin and wipes the incriminating merlot lipstick smudge from his lips.

"I brought you some shorts," Gwen says, chuckling as she turns her attention back to Phil. She pulls them from the bag and hands them to her. "I didn't bring pink or any pastel colors," she smiles.

"I do appreciate that," Phil says, taking a look at a black pair approvingly but eyeing the purple ones suspiciously.

"Some sweats that probably fit you better than Gwaine's there," she pulls these out next.

"Obvious, hey?"

"Little bit," she laughs. "And…" she pulls out the skirt.

"I don't know about that one," Phil says immediately.

"Just try it. It's a skirt I made for a Halloween costume two years ago. I was a witch," she laughs. "Haven't worn it since." She holds it up, showing her a full black skirt with a jagged hemline, falling to points at various levels.

"Hmm. It is kind of punk," she allows.

"It would look really good with your boots," Gwen recommends. She puts everything back in the bag and hands it to Leon.

"Keep it as long as you need. And if you find you like the skirt, it's yours."

"Thanks," Phil says, smiling a small smile.

"Let me know if you need anything else. Like I said, I can sew. And you're a little taller, but you're about the same size as me, so it really would be no problem at all."

"She made that dress," Freya says, leaning over.

"You did?" Phil asks.

"Yep. Piece of cake."

"I'll let you know," she finally says, and Gwen smiles. "Hey, actually…" she starts.

"Yes?"

"These sweats are hot as hell. Can you help me change, now that I have something to change into?"

Gwen smiles, reaching into the bag, still in Leon's hands, and withdraws the black shorts. "This do?"

"Yeah." Phil stands and she and Gwen make their way back to the ladies' loo.

"Be right back, Fray," Gwen tells Freya, then pinches Arthur's backside as she passes.

Arthur turns to watch her walk away, appreciating the sway of her hips, the confident way she carries her small body.

Gwen helps Phil remove Gwaine's oversized grey sweatpants, and bites back a smile as she tries not to notice that the sullen punk girl is wearing pink knickers with daisies on.

"One word and I will sneak into your flat and shave your head while you sleep," Phil threatens.

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear," Gwen says, completely sincere. _Nice to see a bit of femininity, even if she keeps it hidden._

She helps her with the shorts, soft black cotton, and they slide up easily over the well-decorated cast. Gwen stands back and declares, "Phyllis, you have amazing legs."

Phil looks down. "Really? They're really white."

"Well, you never let them see the _sun,_ " Gwen laughs. "But they are very shapely. You should let them out more often."

Phil twists her mouth to the side, not convinced.

"Leon will like them. Come on," Gwen says, gathering up the sweats and folding them neatly.

"I have to pee," Phil says, hobbling to a stall. "Hold these, please," she hands Gwen her crutches and grabs the stall walls, hopping in.

Gwen monkeys around with the crutches while she waits, trying them out. "Bloody hell, Phil, you're going to have some serious shoulder muscles by the time you get that cast off!"

Phil actually laughs. "Yeah, and no skin left on my armpits."

"Yeah, that is a bit uncomfortable," Gwen says, looking at the rubber pads meant to cushion, poking at them with her finger.

There is a flush and a click and the stall opens. Phil hops out and Gwen helps her get her crutches under her. She hovers while Phil washes her hands, then opens the door for her as they exit.

xXx

Arthur is leaning against the wall outside the bathrooms, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. "Hey," he greets them.

"Hey, yourself," Gwen says with a smirk.

"Nice legs, Phil," he says.

"Piss off."

"No, really."

"Oh. Thanks," she ducks her head and blushes, leaving them to head back to the bar.

"What's up?" Gwen asks.

"I want to show you something," he takes her hand and leads her back toward the bar, heading around behind it, brushing past Merlin.

"Where are we going?" Gwen asks.

"To the shop. Back way. We'll drop Gwaine's sweats off in there for him."

"We both need to go?"

"I was working on a drawing yesterday I want to show you," he says, pushing through the door to the kitchen, leading her out through another door into the corridor between the two businesses beneath the stairwell, to yet another door, the back entrance to Excalibur.

He opens the door for Gwen and she steps inside the dark shop. Arthur closes the door behind him, locking it quietly.

Arthur unceremoniously drops the sweats on a chair sitting nearby and takes Gwen's hand again, leading her to his workstation.

"So what did you want to show me?" she asks.

"This." He pulls her into his arms and descends on her lips, kissing her hungrily, greedily, deeply.

"Arthur…" she gasps, pulling her lips away for a second.

He reaches out with one hand, groping for something, and Gwen hears the metallic scrape of a curtain being pulled, shielding his work area from the large front windows.

"You can't just… kiss me like that," he is talking while he kisses her, slowly walking them over to his chair, "and leave, then… come back wearing… those _shoes._ "

Gwen pulls her lips away, laughing. Arthur growls and drops onto his tattooing chair, pulling her down on top of him.

"Arthur," she protests weakly as he claims her lips again, "they're going to know what we're doing if we're gone too long."

His hands are now up under the skirt of her dress, sliding his palms on her thighs. He finds her favorite spot on her neck and growls, "I don't really care." His hand reaches higher, pressing against her warm center, feeling the dampness growing through her knickers. He sucks lightly at her neck and mutters, "Do you?"

She moves her hips against his hand and gasps, "No."

Arthur reaches down and pulls a lever, and the chair drops back, reclining almost like a dentist's chair. Gwen straddles him now, reaching down to open his jeans, shoving them carefully but impatiently down just enough as he yanks at her panties, trying to remove them. He ends up shoving them to the side and sliding his fingers in, groaning as he feels her wetness.

Frantic for each other, she takes him in her hand and lowers herself down onto him, impatiently pulling at her uncooperative knickers.

She moves her hips, eyes fluttering closed as she throws her head back. His one hand reaches up to close over her breast, the other gripping her hip beneath her skirt.

Gwen hears Arthur curse softly, feels his hand move, and then hears the distinctive sound of fabric ripping. Her eyes open as she feels the tangle of her underwear suddenly loosen around her hips.

"You shit," she gasps, but she is unable to even consider being angry with him for destroying her panties because it's allowed her to move more freely, less carefully, and she increases her speed, her intensity, riding him furiously.

Both hands are at her breasts now, squeezing, fondling, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

"Come here," he whispers, sliding his hands up to pull her face down to his. She sucks his lower lip in between her lips, nibbling at the succulent flesh before he presses upward, kissing her fully.

"Oh…" she gasps, clutching his shoulders, bunching his shirt in her hands. "Oh… Arthur…"

"Guinevere…" he answers, licking at her neck, sucking her earlobe.

"Oh… Ah… Again…"

"Guinevere," he purrs into her ear, and she cries out immediately, her hips grinding down into him, her hands on his head, holding him to her.

"Ohhh…" he chokes out, his arms tightly clamping around her body as he releases into her.

She starts giggling then, tucking her face into his neck. "You are terrible."

"Me? You were the one that went off shopping this morning and left me with a semi," he counters.

This just makes her giggle even more. She starts to climb off of him and he holds her there another moment, kissing her again.

"You're spicy today. What did you have for lunch?" he asks with another kiss.

"Tacos."

xXx

"Have a good time looking at Drag's 'etchings,' Sparrow?" Gwaine asks archly from his place at the bar when they return looking slightly flushed.

She calmly walks around the bar, back to her spot, and smacks him on the back of his head as she passes him before settling back down on her stool, the picture of a lady. Minus one pair of underpants.

"You didn't…" Freya whispers.

Gwen just looks at her twitching the corners of her lips down as they try to grin.

"You did!"

"Shh!"

"Drag, you didn't defile the entire shop did you? I don't have a janitor, you know," Gwaine presses.

"Nah, we kept it contained," he says casually, taking a drink of his lager.

"He had better not find those," Gwen whispers to Arthur. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"Don't worry. They're in my pocket."

She gives him an incredulous look.

"What?"

There is a minor commotion at the door and they all turn to see a tall older gentleman walk in, followed by a slender well-dressed woman, also tall. The man is the image of Leon 25 years in the future, except his hair is short, straight, and dark. The woman is the one with the long auburn curls.

"Pop!" Leon declares, stepping over and greeting his parents. "Mum," he leans down and hugs his mother tightly, kissing her offered cheek.

"Hello, darling," his mother says, smiling and placing her hand on his cheek.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, fixing his mother a glass of 7-Up with a twist of lime while Merlin pours a pint for Leon's father.

"Came in for my monthly visit," he says, surveying the group. "Lads," he nods.

"Hey, Pop, Mrs. Foreman," they all chorus.

Gwen and Freya sit quietly, feeling a bit out of place suddenly, hoping that someone will introduce them soon.

"And Phyllis, what happened to your leg?" he asks, noticing her sitting there with her foot on a chair.

"Fell down the stairs," she says simply. Leon comes over to stand beside her.

"The stairs here? _Those_ stairs?" Mr. Foreman points.

"Yeah. Completely my fault, sir, don't worry."

"Nonsense. Leon, make sure her medical bills are taken care of," he orders.

"No, really, that's not necessary," she argues, clearly uncomfortable.

"Phyllis, I don't care if it was your fault. You fell down _my_ stairs. I am responsible. I insist, dear."

She sighs. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He laughs, "For goodness sake, girl, how many times do I have to remind you that you can call me Pop like everyone else does?"

"Apparently at least once more, Pop," Leon laughs. It is then that his father notices that Leon has his arm around Phil's shoulders and his thumb is absentmindedly stroking the side of her neck.

"Oh, so… when did this happen?" he asks, smiling.

"Sam, don't embarrass them," Leon's mother speaks up, placing her hand on his.

"Right after she fell down the stairs," Leon grins. Phil even smiles just a little bit.

Arthur clears his throat noisily and pointedly then, and Leon looks over to see his friend raising his eyebrows at him expectantly.

"Oh! Sorry! Pop, I—"

"I was waiting for you to introduce me to these two lovely flowers that I have never seen gracing our barstools before," Pop interrupts, walking over to Gwen and Freya.

"This is Guinevere, or Gwen. She's Drag's girlfriend," Leon introduces.

"Gwen," he says, grasping her hand warmly between both of his.

"Gwen, my father, Sam Foreman. Or Pop."

"Nice to meet you, Pop," she says, smiling.

"The pleasure is all mine, dear. I daresay Drag is a very lucky man," he smiles at her.

 _He'd be kind of creepy if he wasn't so sincere,_ she thinks. _Plus his wife is right here._

"And my mother, Ella."

"Lovely to meet you, Gwen," she says, stepping forward as well.

"You, too," she smiles at the older woman. _Leon has more of her reserved personality,_ she thinks.

"And this is Freya, Merlin's… um… Hey Merl, I'm a little stuck here," Leon looks over at Merlin.

"Girlfriend?" Pop supplies with a wicked grin.

"We've been on one date," Merlin says, turning a deeper shade of pink now. Freya bites her lower lip nervously, put on the spot.

"Well, do you like her?" Leon's dad presses.

He nods.

"You like him?"

She nods.

"Okay. Got it. Lovely to meet you, Freya. Merlin's a little odd, but he'll take good care of you," he says, taking Freya's hand the same way he did Gwen's.

"Nice to meet you as well, sir. Pop," she stammers, her blush now rivaling Merlin's.

"Don't pay any attention to him, dear. He's all bark," Leon's mother intercepts, taking Freya's hand now.

"Thank you, Mrs. Foreman," Freya says, wanting to glance over at Merlin but too afraid to do so.

"I am not!" Pop blusters.

"Bark, bark, bark…" Ella dismissively says, walking back to her seat while the lads all laugh.

Leon and his father discuss business for a bit, and Merlin leans over the bar, close to Freya.

"Sorry," he says, taking her hand shyly.

"Not your fault," she says. "No pressure, huh?" she laughs nervously.

"Right," he chuckles.

Gwen and Arthur drink their drinks, fiercely _not_ hanging on their every word.

"I did like the sound of it, though," Merlin ventures, playing with her fingers.

"The sound of what?" Freya asks, almost whispering.

"The sound of someone referring to you as my girlfriend."

"I liked that, too."

Gwen can sense Arthur growing impatient with them, and she places her hand over his, stilling him. "He's getting there, settle down," she whispers.

"So… um… when you go to Venice and some tan muscular Italian bloke comes up and propositions you, wanting to whisk you away to his villa…?"

"I'll tell him no thank you, I have a boyfriend."


	29. Chapter 29

Wheels have been turning in Gwen's head all afternoon. She suggests they go back to Arthur's flat again, even though they generally trade off.

"I need to stop at home first, get some things. Like a new pair of knickers," she says once they are alone, outside the pub.

"Don't you dare," he impishly says.

"What?"

"I'm thoroughly enjoying the thought of you being, um, unencumbered under your proper little sundress," he says, pulling her close. "It's a huge turn-on," he growls low in her ear.

"You are so strange sometimes," she laughs, though his voice in her ear like makes her knees wobble and her skin grow warm.

Back at her flat, Arthur helps himself to a fresh carton of ice cream he's found in her freezer while she gathers her things, and Gwen is grateful for his distraction as she grabs her Polaroid and an extra pack of film, tucking them into the middle of her bag.

"Let's go."

Gwen snuggles Iggy for a bit when arrive back at Arthur's, as the cat seems overjoyed to see her again so soon. She reaches into the cabinet where Arthur keeps the cat treats, feeding him a couple morsels as she carries him around in her arms, talking to him.

"All right, he's not a baby, put him down," Arthur rolls his eyes and pulls Gwen's torn panties out of his pocket.

Gwen sets Iggy down, and he happily bounds away. She notices Arthur isn't throwing the knickers away.

"And what do you plan on doing with those?" she asks, hands on her hips.

"You said I could have a souvenir. I'm keeping them."

"Yuck," she sticks her tongue out. _They're not even clean. Of course, that's probably part of their appeal. Kinky nutter._

Arthur just laughs. "You're flattered, you just don't want to admit it," he says, pulling her into his arms, his hands roaming down over her backside, purposely feeling the smoothness of her curves beneath her dress, unhindered by the telltale bumps left by undergarments.

"Arthur?" she asks, kissing his throat, touching her tongue to his skin.

"Hmm?"

"Can I see the closet?"

"What?"

"You said you have a bunch of paintings in a closet," she explains. "I want to see them."

"Oh, that. Sure," he says, taking her hand and pulling her to a closet in his short hallway.

"I still want some for my office, you know." _Serendipitous timing, that._

"Yep, I remember," he says, pulling out a stack of about fifteen or twenty canvases.

"Wow, that's a lot."

He flips through them, each canvas separated by a large piece of blank newsprint paper.

"So they don't stick together," he explains, setting them on the floor and switching on an overhead light so she can see.

She blinks in the brightness, looking at them.

A dragon, so detailed that she can see each scale, can almost feel the heat from the flames emanating from its jagged maw.

An approaching storm at dusk, the sky dark oranges and bright yellows amongst a sea of deepest grey, thick with rolling fat clouds so close that one thinks they could be snatched from the sky. The silhouette of a large tree is off to one side, black against the already dark sky.

A beautiful lake scene, puffy thick white clouds floating over the still lake, a lone raft floating in the center, offset by rolling hills in the background. She can almost feel the cool breeze lifting from the surface of the water.

His mother, a faraway look in her familiar blue eyes; wistful. She is pregnant, the lilac bushes in full bloom beside her.

"That was from a photo I found," he says quietly.

"It's beautiful."

She moves to the next one, a small canvas. "Is that Iggy?" she points, smiling.

"Yeah," he admits sheepishly. "Thought I'd try a non-human subject. He was a kitten."

"He was so cute!" she gushes, smiling at the image of the fluffy ginger kitten, a cloth mouse under his paws.

Another landscape, a rolling farm field of just-cut hay, glistening gold in the sunlight. Round bales sit here and there amid the shimmering stripes left by the tractor. Not a cloud in the sky, a silo off to the side.

A lush green garden courtyard with a pergola from which wisteria blossoms hang like massive bunches of grapes over a flagstone path.

And on and on. Flowers. Children at play. A beautiful portrait of Morgana, looking like a porcelain goddess. The requisite bowl of fruit. Two young boys that look suspiciously like Arthur and Merlin.

"Is that…?"

"Yeah. From another photo. We were about six."

"What were you studying there?" Their heads are together, both looking intently at something in Arthur's dirty hands, hidden from view.

"I caught a frog."

Gwen smiles. "Who took the photo?"

"Merlin's mum."

"Your hair was _really_ blonde, wasn't it?"

"In the summer it would turn almost white," he laughs. "I looked so strange. I was outside all the time, so I was this skinny tan boy with white hair."

"Well, the composition of your light blonde hair against Merlin's shiny black hair is stunning."

"I thought so, too. You have a good eye, Guinevere."

"Thank you," she smiles, moving to the next one. It is a man, silhouetted against the last dregs of an orange and pink sunset, facing away but in partial profile. Though she can't really see him, she can sense the grief about him, the heaviness of his posture, the weight of sadness on his shoulders as he gazes at what appear to be the same lilacs, no longer blooming. It seems to be early autumn, and they are losing their leaves.

"Your father?" she guesses. She peers closer, his image a mystery to her. Certainly she'd heard his name but he is reclusive, only seen when he chooses to be seen, so she actually has no idea what Arthur's famous father even looks like.

"Yes. He didn't know I saw him."

"So this isn't from a photo?"

"Just the one in my head. It was our tenth birthdays, Mo's and mine. Also the tenth anniversary of mum's death, of course. He thought we were in bed." He speaks quietly, sadly. "I got up looking for a drink of water, and when I didn't hear him in the house, I went looking. Found him outside, staring at the lilac bushes."

She takes his hand in hers and squeezes it.

"He was crying. I'd never seen him cry before, not once. Always caught hell from him when I did. You know, falling of my bike or from a tree or hit in the head with a football."

Gwen thinks she can see the faintest glimmer of a tear on what little bit of Uther's profile she can see. _Could be my imagination putting it there, though._

"This is a very sad painting, Arthur. It made me sad to look at, even before you told me the story."

"Um, thank you, I guess."

She chuckles. "It was a compliment. You've certainly conveyed the emotion quite effectively," she says quietly, setting it aside, unable to look on it any more.

"Oh, and then there's these," Arthur says suddenly, turning to pull out two worn sketchpads.

"Goodness, Arthur!" Gwen exclaims, taking them and paging through. They are full, each page bearing a sketch, some image. Some are odd and random: a boot, a toaster, an old tire, a broken doll's head. Some are beautiful and almost haunting in their detail: a large iris blossom, a small waterfall by a stream, and finally, a self-portrait.

"I was wondering if you'd ever drawn yourself," she says, looking at it.

"I don't like to. Seems self-indulgent."

"Says the alpha male," she teases. "This is beautiful, Arthur." Gwen longs to touch the drawing but doesn't, not wishing to smudge a single line.

"Thanks. It actually grew quite tiresome. Too much time with a mirror. I ended up picking at pimples more than I was drawing in the end," he laughs.

Gwen turns the page, laughing with him. "Merlin… Gwaine… Phil? Does she know you've drawn her?"

"No, and don't you dare tell her!"

"Well, you've drawn her beautifully. You were on a kick with portraits for a while," she observes, flipping past images of Leon and Ox before finding one she doesn't recognize. It's a woman with dark hair, handsome but not gorgeous, with strangely familiar eyes. She seems very sweet and personable, even in the pencil sketch.

"Yeah, they're fun. I like trying to capture people's personalities."

"Well, you're very good at it," she says. "Who is this?"

"Merlin's mum, Hunith."

"She's lovely."

"Yes, she is. Like I said, I'm jealous of Merlin sometimes because he has her."

Gwen smiles and closes the sketchbook, turning back to the pile. "Now, let's see… which ones do I want?" she thinks, pressing her index finger to her lips while she ponders.

"Definitely this one," she reaches for the garden one with the wisterias.

"I knew you'd choose that one," he smiles. "Do you want one of you?"

"For my own office? Um, no." She considers the one of young Arthur and Merlin, but selects the hayfield instead.

"Really?" he asks, surprised.

"Yes. I like how shiny the fresh-cut hay is."

"That's how it really looked; it was amazing. I never knew it could look like that, but the sun was just right and it must have _just_ been cut to still be so shiny."

"Well, they'll both look brilliant on my walls," Gwen says, carefully gathering them up, placing the newsprint between them while he packs the rest away.

xXx

"Hungry?" he asks, looking at the clock.

"Yes. Do you have any food?"

"Nothing you would consider for dinner," he laughs. "You wanted Luigi's, let's go there."

"Really?"

"Yes. Put those shoes back on," he orders, pointing.

She laughs. "Between these shoes and my lack of underclothes, are you sure it's a good idea to go out in public with you?"

"I'll try to behave myself," he says, grinning.

"Well, perhaps I had better go put on some—"

"Hey!"

She grins at him and kisses his nose before bending down to put her sandals on. He simply stands behind her, enjoying the view.

 _She's doing that on purpose,_ he notes, noticing that she's bent at the waist, sticking her rear end up at him. _Well, then,_ he thinks, stepping forward quietly and placing his hands on her hips before sliding them down her thighs.

Arthur's hands find skin and he starts sliding them back up, under her dress.

"Arthur!" she yelps, jumping away from him.

"You started it," he protests, "bending over like that when you could have used a chair."

"Right," she says, smirking. "Come on. I want some pasta."

"And _I_ want some—" his words are cut off by the look she gives him. It's a warning look, but it is also a promising one. He bites his lower lip and bounds out the door after her.

xXx

"Can I watch?" Gwen asks later as Arthur works on his canvas, finishing his first painting of her.

"Of course," he says, eyeing her appreciatively as she pads over, in his Clash t-shirt this time. His eyes drop down to where the white of the shirt meets the brown of her creamy thighs.

"No, I didn't put any on," she rolls her eyes. "Damn, you are positively _fixated._ "

"One-track mind today, Sweet. And it's all your fault," he says, brushing confidently now, a marked contrast to the other night where he was sullen and hesitant.

"Yes, yes, I kissed you and left you," she recites, sitting on a stool. After a minute, she asks, "So why didn't you just… take care of things?"

"You mean have a wank? Guinevere, I'm surprised at you!" he says, grinning. "I may make a degenerate out of you yet," he laughs. "And I did," he admits.

"Oh," she says, blushing slightly. _I guess I didn't realize quite how desirable he found me. I mean, I know he desires me, but wow._

"Do you want to try?" he asks.

"Try what?" she asks, wary of what he may be asking.

"Painting, silly," he laughs, following her dirty little train of thought.

"Oh, that!" she laughs. "No, I couldn't. I was pretty hopeless in school at art. The only thing I seemed to be decent at was pottery. You know, clay."

"Clay is fun. Ever use a pottery wheel?"

"Once. It was really cool."

"I've often thought about getting one. Maybe one day," he shrugs. "Here," he sets the canvas aside carefully, then goes in search of a blank one for her.

"A small one!" she calls, nervous now.

"Okay, okay, we'll start small."

He returns with a small canvas, about one foot square, and sets it on the easel.

"What am I painting?" she asks.

"Ummm…" he looks around. _Something simple. I don't have any flowers. Fruit? Do I have any fruit?_ He goes to the kitchen, where he finds an apple, an orange, and a spotted banana. "Will have to do," he mutters, putting them in a bowl and wandering back.

"Lovely," she says, as he puts them on the stool, moving it into place. "How old is that banana?"

He shrugs, coming back around to her. "Now, you might want to start with a pencil to get the basic shape…"

An hour later Gwen is frowning at the canvas. "It looks like a blob with some blobs inside."

"It's good. For a first attempt," he says, tilting his head.

"That code for 'it's total bollocks.'"

"It's… abstract, then."

She groans, jamming the brush into the jar of cleaner.

"Worse?"

"Yes!"

"Would you like me to attempt to sew a dress or something to make you feel better?"

Gwen laughs now, picturing Arthur hunched over a sewing machine, or better still, with a needle and thread, painstakingly stitching.

"My luck, you'd be brilliant at it," she says finally, stretching her arms over her head.

Arthur's eyes widen as the hem of the shirt rises up her thighs, _almost_ high enough for him to see…

He groans and steps over to her, hoisting her over his shoulder and carrying her to his bed while she squeals and laughs.

xXx

Guinevere turns over, and a shaft of early sunlight hits her in the face. She blinks her eyes open, squinting and wincing.

 _What time is it?_ She looks at the clock. _6:33. Ugh._ She is just about to roll over and snuggle back into Arthur's arms when she remembers.

_Camera._

She carefully slides from the bed. Arthur flops over and starts snoring loudly, his mouth hanging open.

 _Sexy,_ she thinks ruefully, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on before digging into her bag and pulling out her camera. She grabs the extra packet of film as well, cringing as the thick plastic film around it crinkles loudly.

Arthur doesn't stir, just continues sawing logs, so she silently walks from the room, closing the door behind her.

xXx

"Going to lunch," Arthur announces at twenty past twelve Monday as he strides from the shop.

"Meeting the Sparrow?" Gwaine asks, not looking up from his work.

"Surprising her, yeah."

"Have a good time," he answers, grinning devilishly.

"Just lunch, piss off." Arthur heads toward his motorcycle, stomping the ignition. Nothing. He tries again, and it sputters to life, then dies. Two more tries and Arthur is cursing.

_Fuck it, it's not far, I'll walk._

"So you found us," Gwen says as she walks out of Taliesin to find Lance waiting for her.

"I did say I knew where it was, Gwen," he smiles. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," she says, giving him a friendly hug. "There's a café just up the block." She slings her bag over her shoulder and takes his arm.

Arthur glowers from the corner, where he arrived just in time to see Guinevere smiling as she finishes hugging a well-dressed young man with dark hair. He is fit and handsome with the kind of effortless good looks that would give Gwaine a run for his money. Tan and well-built, in clothes that seem to do nothing but highlight his physique.

Arthur hates him immediately. _Not only that, why is Guinevere,_ my _Guinevere, hugging him and smiling at him?_

_And why is she taking his fucking arm and walking away with him?_

Arthur sees green, then red. He starts walking, following at a careful distance.

He watches from outside, lurking behind a phone booth, as they sit at the café, chatting companionably.

"So you were in Paris for a while, then New York?" she asks.

"Yes. I got a job working at the Guggenheim Museum."

"Wow, fancy," she teases. "Why did you leave?"

"Because I wanted to open my own place. And be closer to my mother," he add sadly.

"Is your mother here in London?"

"No, she's in Nice, at a beautiful hospital with a room that overlooks the sea," he says sadly. "But I wanted to be here. I missed it too much."

"How is she?" Gwen asks softly, knowing that it is a delicate subject.

Lance sighs. "I saw her last week. She doesn't know who I am."

"That must be very hard," Gwen sympathizes, putting her hand on his for a moment.

"She thinks I'm her brother Jorge."

"What?"

"She's regressed back to where she thinks she's about seven years old, back home in Chile."

"So, when your father died, that was pretty much it for her, huh?"

"Yeah," he sighs again. "She wasn't that… together to begin with. But when he finally succumbed, her fragile mind went with him, I think."

"How terrible. I read about your father's death. There was a lovely article in the Arts section of the _Times_ all about him and his work. A big one."

"That's nice."

"So what do you do? When you visit your mum, if she doesn't know you? Or thinks you're your uncle."

"What can I do? I humor her. I speak to her in Spanish, calling her _Rosita_ the way he does. I let her show me her dolls and tell me about how Francisco, who must be some boy that lived in her village, pulls her braids and runs away laughing." He smiles a sad smile.

"And your sister?"

"She can't handle it. Tells Josh that his grandparents have both gone to heaven."

"Wow. She's not exactly lying, though, is she?"

He shrugs. "Not really."

The waiter comes and takes their orders while Arthur tears his eyes away from them for a few moments, debating with himself.

_Should I go in there? No, she'd kill me. I should leave. It's probably just a business lunch._

_But why was she fucking hugging him, then? She is much too friendly with him for this to be business._

_Go in. Pretend that you've just happened by and spotted her. Ask to join them. Be civilized._

_Yes. I can do that. And then I will punch his perfectly straight nose directly into those ridiculous cheekbones._

_No. Just… no. Be good. Be friendly._

When he looks back, she's scooted her chair closer to the strange man's and they are leaning towards one another, their heads together.

_Well, isn't this nice?_

And when Guinevere leans her head back and laughs her merry laugh, the laugh that is normally like music and sunshine, that tears it for Arthur. He kicks the phone kiosk and stomps away, his jealousy a blinding fury behind his eyes.

"What's this one?" Lance asks, puzzled.

"Oh, that's mine," she laughs. "He was trying to teach me how to paint last night. I only took a photo of it to use up the film and because I thought you would find it amusing."

"Um, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but what _is_ it?"

"Oh! How can I not take that the wrong way?" she exclaims, feigning hurt. "It's a bowl of fruit. See, the pointy-ish yellow-ish thing? That's a banana."

He holds the photo closer to his face, peering at it. "Ah. Not a sideways canoe, then."

"Shut up!" she shoves his shoulder.

"I feel like I'm trying to guess at one of Josh's drawings," he says, purposely teasing her now, even turning the photo upside-down.

"How old is Josh?" she asks, wary.

"Four," he grins at her, and she gives in, laughing loudly, throwing her head back as she does so.

"You are such a shit," she finally says. "But what do you think of Arthur's work?"

He flips through the photos again and picks up the few drawings she's brought, including the first one he did for her, on the back of the letter.

"He is fucking amazing."

xXx

Phil looks up and sees Arthur stalk to the door of the shop, opening it only to stick his head in and declare that he is going home.

"What the hell was that?" she asks, looking at Gwaine.

"Bad lunch date?" he shrugs.

Arthur eyes his motorcycle again. "This is your fault. If you had started, I would have been there early enough to intercept him." He kicks the tire, climbs on and attempts to start it.

Of course it fires up on the first try. Arthur curses loudly and rides off, angry at Gwen and angry at himself for the tears he feels threatening.

He rides aimlessly, avoiding any place where he might see anyone he knows. He finds himself driving past his father's estate, slowing but not stopping. In fact, he hits the accelerator harder when he realizes he's even slowed.

"Meet me at my flat when you're done working," she had said to him that morning. "I'm going to drop these at the framer's after work, so I won't be stopping in at the shop."

 _Yeah, right. If by "framer's" she means "handsome olive-skinned Mediterranean-looking menswear catalog model's flat for a quick shag,"_ he thinks bitterly, turning back towards his own flat.


	30. Chapter 30

Gwen sets her purse down on the table, sighing, happy with the results of her lunch meeting. _Arthur is going to be so surprised. I can't wait to tell him._

A pounding at her door startles her, and she looks up at it, blinking.

"Guinevere!" Arthur's voice from the other side, shouting.

Quickly she stuffs the folder containing the drawings and Polaroids into a kitchen drawer and walks to the door.

He's pounding again when she gets there. _Why isn't he just knocking like a normal person? And since when does he even knock anymore?_

"Arthur," she says, opening the door, smiling at him.

He pushes past her, into the flat. "Where is he?"

She frowns. "Where is whom?"

"That man," he says, storming across her flat to her bedroom. She follows, watching in shock as he looks under her bed before stomping back out to look in the bathroom, whipping back the shower curtain.

"Arthur, there is no man here."

He stops. "And what am I?" he says sarcastically, opening a hallway closet before heading for the kitchen.

She puts her hands on her hips, angry now. "From your current behavior, I'd say a child."

"Who is he?"

"Arthur, stop," she says, bracing her hands against his chest as he storms back out, his eyes still darting around her flat. "What are you talking about?"

"Who was that _wank_ you were having lunch with?" he demands, pushing her hands away.

She stares. _How did he know I was having lunch with someone?_ "Did you follow me?"

"Yes. Who is he?" He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at her, his eyes stormy.

She lets out an exasperated breath and walks away from him. "He's a friend," she says. "Why did you follow me?"

"A friend? You were sitting _awfully_ close to your 'friend,' sharing secrets, your little heads bent together conspiratorially."

"Yes. He's a friend. Okay, we dated a hundred and fifty years ago, but that is ancient history and we are _friends._ That's it." _I notice he didn't answer my question._

"Yeah, 'friends,' right. You expect me to believe that?" he says crossly.

"I expect you to believe what I'm telling you, yes," she says, trying not to raise her voice, her hands on her hips again. "Don't go jumping to conclusions before you know—"

"I know what I saw!" he yells, waving his arms.

Gwen opens her mouth to keep arguing, but decisively closes it instead, making her teeth click together almost painfully. She stalks past him to the front door, hot painful tears pricking her eyes as she opens the door. "Get out."

"What?" He is stunned.

"You are in no frame of mind to listen to any logic, to anything I have to say. So get out." She points out the door.

"But…" he stammers.

"Go. When you can discuss this like a rational adult, you can call me, and I'll _think_ about talking to you." Her voice breaks as she struggles to control herself. _I will not cry. Not until after he's gone._

"Guinevere…"

" _Go!_ " She squeezer her eyes shut now, pointing.

"Fine. I hope you'll be happy with that tosser," he says, stomping past her.

"And I hope you'll be happy with yourself," she says quietly, sadly, as he passes her.

He pauses beside her and looks down at her. She opens her eyes and sees the pain and the hurt behind the anger in his eyes, but she does not bend, holding his gaze, her own eyes glassy, welling with tears she stubbornly holds.

Arthur walks out the door and she closes it quietly behind him, leaning on it, sliding to the floor, finally letting the tears fall.

She hears the crinkle of paper and the crunch of his teeth as he crunches down on a lemon drop just outside her door.

 _I hope his teeth rot out of his head,_ she thinks.

 _No… I don't,_ she amends, dropping her head to her knees, tears flowing freely, running down her legs as she sobs.

xXx

"What's she doing?" Arthur asks Merlin, out in their favorite abandoned storefront the next afternoon. The day has been ridiculously slow again, and the lads have packed it in early. And Arthur has been dreading this time of day, the time when he used to enjoy watching Gwen walk past on her way home from work.

"She's reached the corner. She's stopped. Why are you hiding?"

"And?" He ignores Merlin's question.

"She looks like she's trying to decide what to do."

"There could be cars she's waiting on," Leon suggests.

"No cars," Merlin answers, unthinkingly.

Leon shoves his shoulder.

"Oh. Sorry," he says vaguely. "She's turning. Going a block up, I'd wager."

"So she's going out of her way to avoid me, then," Arthur says simply.

"And now we know why you've been acting a complete and royal arse all day," Gwaine declares. "They had a fight. I'm guessing it was at lunch yesterday." He looks at Arthur. "Must have been a big one, too."

Merlin turns back to Arthur, his eyes narrowed knowingly. "Drag. What did you do? And why am I just now finding out about this? Oh, right, because you prefer to wallow in your misery in solitude, I forgot." He rolls his eyes.

"I didn't do anything!" Arthur yells, throwing his hands up.

"Yeah, right, mate," Gwaine pipes up, blowing a puff of smoke at him before passing the cigarette to Ox, who just wandered up, sweaty and tired. He pushes Gwaine's hand away, having vowed to quit since starting his training.

Arthur waves the nicotine cloud away. "I caught her having lunch with another bloke."

"Is that all?" Merlin asks. "Mate, it's just a lunch. Was she giving him head under the table?"

"No."

"Hand job?"

"No!"

"Did she kiss him?"

"Hugged him."

"She hugs everybody. Even Gwaine," Merlin says. "So what's the big bloody deal?"

"They were… just… really _friendly._ Cozy, like."

"And you don't know who he was?

"Of course not."

"Maybe he's a relative," Ox suggests helpfully.

"Or business lunch. Could be that Marcus Ryan idiot," Leon suggests.

Arthur turns. "No, neither of those. I know that much. She told me they _used_ to date." He snorts. "Yeah, right."

"And how, exactly, did you 'catch' her having this scandalous lunch?" Merlin prods.

"I, uh…"

"Arthur." Merlin only uses his real name when he has reached the end of his tether with his best friend.

"I followed her."

"Oof, you are _such_ an idiot!" Leon says crossly, throwing his hands up and turning away, exasperated.

"What?" Arthur protests.

"How many birds do you have to alienate before you learn to stop being so possessive and jealous?" Merlin asks, raising his voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Sophia. Elena. Vivian," Merlin says simply.

"Oh."

"Well, be fair, Vivian _was_ all sixes and sevens," Gwaine says.

"Okay, he can have that one, she was a total nutter," Merlin allows. "Did you give her a chance to explain? And did you actually _listen?_ "

"Guinevere?" Arthur asks.

"No, Vivian! Of _course_ Guinevere!"

"Um…"

"You didn't."

"Not really. She started to try, but I…"

"You were too busy being angry and jealous," Leon supplies. "Fuck this. I'm going home. To Phil. My _girlfriend._ Who I _love_ and _trust._ Because that's what you _do,_ " he adds, just to further twist the knife. He strides down the sidewalk, heading back to the pub.

Arthur is silent, Leon's words stabbing him. He turns away and looks down the street, at the corner where Merlin spotted her. He imagines the lilac scent of her hair has traveled on the breeze, reaching his nose.

"You're a jerk, do you know that?" Gwaine asks.

Arthur wheels on them. "What, so you lot are all on her side?"

"Yes," Gwaine answers immediately, nodding as though it is an obvious fact. "In fact, you're lucky I haven't punched you yet, mate."

Merlin puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Drag. All we're saying is that for someone who constantly rails against people judging things by their appearances, you're being a gigantic hypocrite."

"Humongous," Gwaine adds.

"We like Gwen," Ox says. "She's good for you, and for some unfathomable reason, she seems to really like you. Even maybe love you."

"I know."

"You need to apologize and make things right with her," Merlin tells him, staring levelly at him.

"I need to go," Arthur says, striding away from his friends, head bent and his hands shoved in his pockets as he heads toward the alley and his motorcycle.

"Oh yeah, and thanks for making things awkward for me, you fucking tosser," Merlin calls after him.

Arthur spins around, his face stony. "What the fuck has this got to do with you?"

"She's my bloody _editor,_ Drag. So thanks a lot, Shitbrain."

Arthur rolls his eyes and storms away.

"Artists," Gwaine says, rolling his eyes.

"Speaking of hypocrites," Merlin says, turning to him and snatching the cigarette from his fingers and taking a long pull from it.

"Hey, I'm not as bad as he is!" Gwaine protests, removing the fag from Merlin's fingers and pounding him on the back while he coughs and sputters, doubled over.

"That's because you're not as _good_ as he is," Merlin chokes, and Ox laughs.

Gwaine glowers and shoves Merlin. "And you don't even smoke, you twat."

xXx

 _They're right. I'm a jerk. An idiot. She was the best thing in my life. The best thing ever. And now she probably thinks I'm a giant pillock and will never speak to me again._ He paces the floor of his flat, kicking empty bottles left from the previous night's solo debauchery. The brown empties spin on the floor as he angrily kicks them out of his path.

Iggy meows loudly, bashing his great orange skull against Arthur's shin. "Piss off," he nudges the cat, shoving him gently with his boot. Iggy turns his back, flips his tail up and imperiously strides away: the cat equivalent of _fuck you._

"You too, huh?" Arthur mutters, frowning at the cat as he hops into the windowsill to watch the insects or whatever it is he does up there.

Arthur flops back on the couch, grabbing a half-empty bag of stale crisps that he had abandoned last night when he passed out face-down on the sofa, pissed out of his skull. He slams his feet on the coffee table, knocking over a half-empty bottle in the process. It spills its flat contents on the table, and Arthur watches as the lukewarm lager runs along the tabletop and drips to the floor, soaking into the carpet. Mindlessly, he grabs a handful of crisps as he stares at the blank screen of the telly.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, groaning.

 _No good. Her face is in my head. Her laughter is in my ears._ His hands twitch. _Her skin is under my fingers._

_Fuck it._

He stands and goes to his massive stereo, puts a record on and blasts it. _That should at least keep her voice away._

He hears pounding over his head as his upstairs neighbor registers his complaint.

"Piss off!" he yells at the ceiling, throwing a football up to bang into the ceiling before he slumps back down on the couch, hands absently reaching for his sketch pad.

He stares at the empty sheet in front of him, touches the pencil to the page, and makes one line before throwing the pencil across the room, where it leaves a mark on a lampshade before clattering to the floor.

_Why does it hurt so bloody much this time? It's not like I haven't been shown the door before. I feel like my heart has been ripped from my body and stomped on._

He glances over at the phone, sitting on the side table, staring at him in an almost accusatory fashion.

_Call her. Call her now and apologize._

Arthur slowly reaches for the phone, his hand hovering an inch from the handset before he drops it and walks away, a string of curses falling from his lips.

_She probably doesn't want to talk to me. What I did was unforgivable. She's never been anything but good, honest, and trustworthy. 100 percent. Helped Ox, helped Merlin. Helped me._

_Hell, if Phil hadn't broken her leg, Guinevere probably would have brought her and Leon together._

He slumps back down on the couch again, angrily pulling at the laces of his boots.

_She loved me despite my shortcomings. My problems with my father. Defended me to her own father, even._

_She gave me what I've been craving my whole life. The only other person to show me that level of unconditional love is my sister. Damn you, Uther._

_You can't blame everything on your father._

_Piss off, conscience. If he had taught me how to deal with my feelings, I…_

_He doesn't know how himself. He can't teach what he doesn't know._

_He didn't even try._

_She was helping you figure that out. She keeps you sane. Makes you a better man._

_Guinevere understood me. At least I thought she did._

He throws his boot. It knocks the already-abused lamp over and it crashes to the floor, shattered. For good measure, he throws the other boot at it as well, lobbing it to the floor to land on the broken pieces of lamp.

 _Good. Now my heart's not the only broken thing in here._ Sudden silence surrounds him as the needle has reached the end of the record. It retracts automatically, returning to its holder as Arthur reaches over and picks up the sketchpad again. He stares at it, puts it down, and picks up the phone before he can chicken out again.

He dials the number without even looking at the phone. It rings three times.

"Hello?"

_She sounds so sad. Disappointed. Disappointed in me._

"Hello?" she repeats.

He hangs up.

"Fuck!" he swears loudly, rubbing his face in his hands, now thoroughly disgusted with himself.

_No balls to even talk to her. I'm a coward. A jealous coward. A jealous coward who is throwing away the most wonderful girl in the world. With both hands._

_What the fuck is_ wrong _with me?_

Arthur stalks over and retrieves his pencil, mindless of the broken lamp. He steps on a shard and it stabs his foot. He actually welcomes the distraction from this new pain, a pain he can understand, stomping on the injured foot as he walks back to the couch.

He puts the pencil to the page and begins to draw, his hand working without his mind interfering.

_The lads are all mad at me. Freya's going to kill me. Oh, God, Phil is going to verbally abuse me, torture me and then almost kill me, only leaving me alive so I can suffer more._

_What's different? Why can't I handle this one? Why am I so angry with myself, so empty, so hurt? It_ hurts. _So much._

He glances at his foot, watching as a red patch starts growing on his sock where he stepped on the broken lamp.

_Because you love her, that's why. You didn't love the others. And deep down, you know you're wrong._

_Shut up._

He lifts his pencil, and Guinevere's face is staring at him from the page.

xXx

"Look, I'm _sorry,_ Lance," Gwen apologizes again. "I know you were all excited about this, but, oh, I don't know, I guess put the plans on hold."

"No. We're going to scrap them. I suddenly don't like this guy. I don't care how good he is, if he's going to be an asshole, then…"

Gwen sighs, cutting him off. "Lancelot…"

"I'm sorry, Gwen…"

"Just hang on to them. Tell you what. Give me a week. If he doesn't come crawling back to me begging my forgiveness by this time next week, _then_ you can scrap them."

"Gwennie, why? Why bother giving this jerk a window of opportunity when it's clear he's a… a shitbag?"

"Lance, he's not a shitbag. Honestly, you spent too much time in America, you've got the most colorful vocabulary now."

"Thank you."

"Not a compliment. Arthur is just… complicated. Normally he falls all over himself to make me happy. I knew he was protective, but I guess I didn't realize that he was quite _this_ possessive. But he deserves this opportunity, Lance. I can't explain why; I don't have the time or the energy right now. Just trust me. He's a good man, really."

"I don't know…" he hesitates, hating the sound of the pain in her voice.

"One week, Lance. And _he_ must come to _me._ I promise I will not seek him out."

"Okay. But still: why?"

"Because I love him, that's why."

Gwen hangs up the phone, reaches for yet another tissue, and flops down onto her bed, pressing the tissue to her eyes.

_Freya, you picked a hell of a time to go to Venice._

xXx

Arthur angrily tears the page from his sketchpad and tosses it on the table with the others. _No matter what I try to do, it always turns into Guinevere._

His eyes rove over the scattered pages. Her profile here, her eyes there. Her lips, her hair, her face. Her bare back, surrounded by rumpled sheets. Her hand draped over the back of a chair. Her legs, tapering down to her lovely small feet. She's all over his table, on his walls.

It's been four days. Arthur hasn't left his flat, calling in sick to work every day, listening to Gwaine roll his eyes on the other end of the line. His flat is cluttered and smelly, and so is he. He hasn't showered, hasn't shaved. He's been living on lager, crisps, and lots of candy.

And drawing. Drawing, drawing. And painting a bit, covering the few portions of his walls yet un-touched, dabbling at the canvas he was finishing before he buggered everything up.

Everything he creates is something of her; he is a man obsessed.

 _I miss her. But she won't take me back. I was completely unreasonable and a complete prat. No, worse than that. I was a fucking a_ _s_ _shole._

Iggy has been registering his disdain for Arthur's pain in the usual feline way. Waking him up by sitting on his chest with his furry arse in Arthur's face. Demanding his meals yet ignoring him as much as possible the rest of the time. Crapping on the rug instead of in his box.

He hops up on the table and stares at Arthur. He paws at the papers, batting them around the table. He finds one of Gwen's face and stands on it, almost purposefully. Then he plunks down, his fat body spreading out over the table, and rests his head on Gwen's portrait, purring almost tauntingly.

"Shut up," Arthur tells the cat, standing and leaving the table.

xXx

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gaius, I'm not feeling well today," Gwen says. It gets harder to get out of bed each day that passes without hearing from him. She read and re-read the same chapter of Marcus' awful book three times yesterday. "Hopefully I'll be better tomorrow. Just a small stomach bug."

She hangs up the phone and lies back on the bed, pulling the coverlet over her head. _I can't believe he hasn't even called. It's been four days. Maybe Lance was right._ She burrows down into the bed, hiding from the world.

Her phone rings and she jumps a foot off her bed. She reaches over and cautiously lifts the handset, wondering if it will be Arthur calling and hanging up. For a third time. "Hello?"

"Gwen?" A woman's voice. Not Arthur.

"Yes?"

"This is Morgana."

"Oh! Hello, sorry, I didn't recognize your voice!" she exclaims. _How did she get my number?_

"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush here. My brother is an arse. Whatever he did to you, I'm sure you didn't deserve it, and I want you to know that I'm on your side and am perfectly willing to go over to that dank flat of his and knock some sense into that pierced head of his if you want me to."

Gwen actually laughs. "Thank you, Morgana, I don't think you need to drive all the way down here, but I thank you for the thought." _How did she even find out? Gwaine? Merlin? Did she actually talk to Arthur?_

"What did he do, anyway?"

"There was a misunderstanding, and he, um, overreacted. A bit." _Must have been Gwaine,_ she decides, figuring Merlin or Arthur would have given more details.

"Spill."

Gwen sighs and tells her, pausing to let Morgana punctuate the story with cries of "No!" and "That shit!" and "What a baby!"

"He always was that way. Never liked to share his toys," she says. "Not that you're his toy, mind," she amends.

"I knew what you meant."

"When did this happen?"

"Monday."

"And he hasn't even _called_ you? I am going to kill him. _Kill_ him. Doesn't he realize that you are the best thing that ever happened to him and that letting you slip away would be unforgivable?"

 _Wow. I didn't know she felt that way._ "Thank you," Gwen says quietly.

"Gwen. You… you _center_ him. He's an artist. He's a stereotypical troubled artist. He's got his demons, but when he's with you, the demons are manageable. I was hoping that with enough time, you'd scare them away entirely."

"I only hope he's all right."

"I'm sure he's sitting in the dark with that damn cat of his, brooding and listening to very loud music."

"Surviving on junk food and ale."

"Yes. Hey, don't you have a job you're supposed to be at?"

"I called in sick today. Don't you have a job you're supposed to be at?"

"I am at my job. I'm the boss; I can bloody well make a personal call if I want. _Are_ you sick?"

"No. Well, not _that_ kind of sick."

"Hmm." Gwen can hear Morgana's frown.

"Thank you, Morgana," Gwen says.

"For what?"

"For calling me. Talking to me. I… I don't have many friends. And my closest friend is on holiday in Venice right now."

"Well, now you have one more. I'm a bitch and a pain in the ass, but I am your friend. And I think it's time I do something."

"Are you going to call Arthur?"

"No. I'm going to do one better."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to call Merlin and make him go _over_ to Arthur's."


	31. Chapter 31

"Drag! Open the bloody door!" Merlin pounds on the door to Arthur's flat, trying to yell over the blast of The Sex Pistols. He pounds again, still nothing. "Sod it all," he says, trying the knob.

The door opens, and Merlin walks into the dark of the room. He is immediately assaulted by Iggy, who slams him with his giant ginger body. Merlin absently bends and gives the cat a friendly pat and walks to the stereo, flipping it off.

"Hey!" Arthur yells, looking up from his spot slouched on the sofa.

"Drag, mate, I'm here to yank you bodily over to Gwen's flat."

"She won't listen to me."

"Have you _tried?_ "

"No," he admits sullenly.

Merlin rolls his eyes and looks around, now that his eyes have adjusted to the dim light. The flat is plastered with drawings. Every flat surface has paper strewn on it, every paper bearing a sketch. Sketches of Gwen.

"Arthur…" Merlin reproachfully sighs, picking up the drawing nearest him. He glances at it and immediately drops it face down on the table, blushing slightly. _There was a little too much of her on that one._

"What?" he says irritably.

"You are a man possessed. Is this what you've been doing? Drawing her for four days?"

"Yeah," he sulks, tossing the stub of his pencil onto the coffee table. Iggy pounces on it and bats it to the floor.

"Not healthy, mate. You need to go talk to her. Apologize to her."

"She won't—"

"You don't know unless you try, Cabbage Head. Stop being a stubborn prat and _go see her._ " He shoves the side of Arthur's head, and Arthur swats his hand away.

"But—"

"Shut up and put some shoes on."

" _Now?_ " he asks, standing.

"Phew!" Merlin exclaims. "Maybe not now. Go take a shower first; you stink."

"Do I?" he lifts his arm and sniffs.

"Yes. If you show up at her place smelling – and looking – like that, she definitely won't take you back."

"You're sure about this?"

"Drag," he says again, gesturing around the room, "are you really going to continue living like this? In a sea of sketches when you could have the real thing?"

Arthur says nothing; he just stares longingly at a sketch he's just done of her face.

"Clean your foul self up. I'll wait."

"You can go."

"I don't trust you. I'll wait."

"Jerk."

"Yes. Go shower, Fuckhead."

Arthur trudges away and Merlin looks around. Iggy meows up at him, and he looks down at the cat. "I know. He's a mess."

While he waits, Merlin tidies up a bit, picking up bottles and wrappers, sorting through the drawings, sneaking another peek at the one he hurriedly set down earlier. _Wow. No wonder he's miserable._ Feeling guilty for peeking, he tucks it away, stacking it with other similar sketches.

_These are really good. And he drew them all from memory, which always bloody amazes me._

Arthur emerges ten minutes later, dressed in a plain t-shirt and jeans, hair damp and hanging over to one side, socks in his hand.

"You still look like shit, but at least you smell better," Merlin says, appraising him from his spot on the sofa.

"You cleaned."

"Of course I did. You know I can't help it. Your trash bin is heaping with bottles now, too. What happened to the lamp?"

"It lost a fight with my boot. What did you do with my sketches?" he asks, sitting to pull his socks and boots on.

"I sorted them and stacked them neatly over there," he points at the table.

"You sorted them? So you looked at them?"

"Well, obviously."

" _All_ of them?" he raises an eyebrow.

"I may have only glanced at several of them. That stack is the one that's face-down, by the way," Merlin says, studying the fibers of the carpet between the toes of his boots.

"Pervert."

"Hey, _you_ drew them."

"She's _my_ girl."

Merlin looks up at him.

"At least she was," Arthur amends sadly.

"And she still will be," Merlin says, standing, "if you don't screw it up again. Come on."

He grabs Arthur's shoulder and yanks him to his feet.

"I don't need an escort, _Merlin,_ " he says, drawing his friend's name out as he reaches for the keys to his motorcycle.

"Perhaps it escaped your attention that it is raining out, Drag," Merlin says.

He looks up to the window, but he can only see blackness. "What time is it?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Half nine. Let's go; I'll drive you."

"What are you going to do, wait around?" Arthur asks, shutting the door of Merlin's dilapidated car against the rain.

"No, I'm dropping your ass off. If it goes well and you don't act like Arthur Pendickhead, then I'm sure you'll stay the night. If you screw it up, you deserve to walk home in the rain," Merlin says, pulling away from the curb.

_He's right._

xXx

"Hello, Arthur," Gwen simply says after opening the door for him, finding him huddled against the building, trying to keep out of the rain. She steps aside to let him in and closes the door.

They look at each other a moment, assessing each other. _He looks like hell. And I didn't even know he owned a green t-shirt. When is the last time he slept? Or had a proper meal?_

 _She looks like she feels as good as I do. But yet she's still gorgeous._ She is wearing a lavender nightie, sleeveless, ending just above her knees. Arthur looks down at her bare feet with their painted pink toenails and has to resist the urge to fall to the floor and start kissing them.

Finally he looks up at her face again, to find it sad, unbelievably sad, but patient. _She's waiting._

"I'm… I'm sorry, Guinevere," he says simply.

"And?"

"Um, I was a prat. A total arse. I let my jealousy take off with my logic. I should have listened to you."

"Yes, you should have," she coolly says, walking away from him and sitting in a chair.

"Guinevere," he pleads, following her.

"Boots."

"Shit." He bends and unties his wet boots, pulling them off and setting them by the door.

He walks back over to her and kneels on the floor in front of her, wishing she had sat on the sofa but knowing exactly why she didn't.

"I… I have no excuse for my jealousy, my…"

"Possessiveness. Insanity. Childishness," she supplies.

"Yes," he says, dropping his forehead against her knee. She lifts her hand to place it on his head, to stroke his hair, for once not plastered straight up, but stubbornly puts it back on the arm of the chair.

"It's just that," he turns his head, kissing the side of her knee, "I never had a mother, and even before my father disowned me he wasn't exactly…" he gropes for the word, "supportive. Affectionate. So when I find someone special," his hand drifts down, resting on top of her foot, "I tend to get a little possessive. Overprotective."

"A little?" she asks, her voice thick and quavering.

He lifts his head and looks up at her to see silent tears streaming down her face.

"Apparently I haven't learned yet that by trying to keep those… those I…" he swallows, "love… so close to me, I'm really pushing them away."

 _Did he say love?_ She touches his cheek, and he closes his eyes, exhaling shakily.

"I can't promise I won't be jealous, Guinevere. All I can promise is that I will try to not lose my mind when a strange man talks to you. Or looks at you. Or touches you." His eyes grow stormy again.

"Arthur," she finally speaks, bringing him back to earth.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry, Guinevere. I do trust you. I always have. It's just…" he trails off, his thumb stroking the skin on the top of her foot.

"Him you didn't trust."

"Right," he exhales, thinking he's making headway.

"Yet you took it out on me anyway," she says, sniffling.

 _Guess not._ He drops his head back down to her knee. "I know. You were right. I behaved like a child. I wouldn't listen."

"Four days, Arthur," she says quietly. "You waited _four bloody days_ before you decided to apologize."

"I…"

"And even then Merlin had to drag your sorry backside out."

"How did you…?" he looks up at her, and decides that that is a question for later. "I didn't think you would see me. That you would hear my apology."

"You thought me that cold?"

"No!" he exclaims, his hand on her knee now. "In my anger and… stupidity, I guess I forgot that you were _you._ "

"Stupidity is a good word for it," she says.

"Guinevere…" he says, pressing his face into her lap. She allows her hand to fall to his head, fingers threading through his hair, amazed at its softness, its silken texture.

"Please forgive me," he whispers, turning his head to the side, pressing his cheek against her legs. She can feel the warm moisture from his tears falling into her lap.

"Do you want to know why I was having lunch with Lance?" she asks, wiping her face with her free hand.

He sighs and sniffs. _Her fingers feel so good in my hair._ He nods, afraid to speak for fear his voice will come out strange, choked with emotion.

"Lance owns an art gallery."

Arthur presses his face into her lap again, feeling about two inches high. _She was doing something for me, and I acted like a stupid fuck. I don't deserve her._

"He wants to give you a show."

He groans. _This just keeps getting worse._

"He thinks you're brilliant."

"Stop…" he moans, "I already feel terrible, now you're making me feel worse."

"Oh?"

He looks at her. "You're doing this intentionally, aren't you?"

"Yes," she meets his gaze with her own, her eyes red. They regard each other a minute, and finally she says, "You look like shit."

"You look beautiful."

"I look like shit, too."

"No," he says, lifting up onto his knees, winding his arms around her waist, "you are gorgeous." He buries his head in her lap, pressing it into her stomach.

"I love you, Guinevere. Please say you forgive me."

She reaches down and lifts his head, gently pulling his face to hers, kissing him softly, just once. "I love you, Arthur. And I do forgive you."

He leans up and kisses her, hands clutching the material of her nightie. "Thank you," he breathes.

"Arthur?" she says, tracing his jaw with her finger, feeling four days' worth of stubble scratching her fingertip.

"Hmm?"

"Don't do it again." Her voice is deadly serious.

He squeezes her, pulling her down to him, into his lap on the floor. "I won't. I mean, I'll try not to," he says, leaning in to kiss her.

She evades him, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I won't," he says, nuzzling her nose with his.

She lets him get within a centimeter of her lips before pulling back again.

"I promise," he huskily whispers, lunging quickly forward to capture her lips before she can pull away again. "I _promise_ ," he repeats, tucking his face into her neck as he holds her to him tightly, vowing to never let her go again.

xXx

Arthur pulls them to their feet, wrapping his arms around her small body. His body surrounds hers, yet he feels that she is all around him, that she is encompassing his entire being.

"Thank you," he repeats, whispering against her hair. "You are absolutely everything to me."

She just squeezes him tighter, and he can feel her breathing go ragged.

"Are you crying again?" he asks, leaning back and looking down at her.

"No," she lies, pressing her face into his shirt, using it to dry her disobedient tears.

"Guinevere," he says tenderly, pulling her to the couch with him, "don't cry. I can't bear it any more."

"Sorry. These are happy tears, Arthur. I think. My emotions are all over the place right now," she says, reaching for a tissue and wiping her face again. "Might be PMS," she adds with a laugh.

"Well, that's fantastic," he says wryly, and as she snorts a laugh, a clear bubble of snot suddenly protrudes from one nostril.

Gwen quickly clamps the tissue over her face, horrified. Slowly she lifts her eyes to Arthur's face.

He is bright red and positively shaking with the laughter that he is valiantly trying to hold in. She purses her lips seeing him, trying not to laugh herself now.

"Don't hold it in Sweet, or the other nostril may join in as well," he says, suddenly busting out, falling over on the couch. "God, that was brilliant," he gasps, "do it again…"

"You can just piss right off," she shoves him, but she is laughing now, too. She stands and stalks to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

He follows and presses his ear to the door, laughing again as he hears just what he expected to hear: she's gone in there to blow her nose in privacy.

"I can hear you out there, Pendragon," her voice wafts through the bathroom door.

"And I can hear you blowing that adorable nose in there, Degrance," he calls back, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door, blocking the opening with his body so she has no choice but to deal with him when she opens the door.

"Oh!" she exclaims, jumping when she opens the door to discover he is _right_ there.

He chuckles, dropping his hands down to her waist.

Gwen looks up at him and puts her hand to his cheek, saying, "When was the last time you had a decent meal?"

"What?" _She's thinking about food?_

"You look like you've eaten nothing but junk for four days."

"That's because I have," he admits, squeezing her waist in his hands. "You've skipped a meal or two yourself, there, miss."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, trying to duck past him now.

"Oh, no you don't," he grabs her, quick as lightning, pulling her against him and kissing her deeply, longingly, gratefully.

"I missed you so much, Sweet," he mutters as he moves down to her neck, "and I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."

"What?" she whispers, her hand holding his head, fingers threading through his hair.

"I wanted to," he says, his voice still a quiet rumble, "I came close a couple times…"

"Oh," she says, understanding now. She realizes her feet have been moving when she finds herself on her bed with him suddenly over her.

"I've known it since the second day I knew you," he admits, sliding his tongue down the side of her neck.

"Arthur," she breathes, sliding her hands up beneath his shirt, and he whips it off, tossing it carelessly aside before dropping back down over her. Gwen's hands return to his chest immediately, tracing the dragon on his shoulder with her fingertips.

She doesn't need to say anything else as they gaze into each other's eyes. Her fingers are light and delicate on his skin, his hands caress her face, her side.

Arthur's hand at her side travels lower, down to her thigh, where her nightie has shifted, bunching almost to her hips. She squirms deliciously under his touch as he scoots the thin garment higher, his palm skimming over her stomach and her breasts before she finally has to lift her shoulders to pull it off over her head. This, too, goes sailing through the air.

Gwen's hands are unfastening his jeans now, her fingers trembling slightly, almost like she hasn't done this many times already, but she is successful, opening them and sliding her hands inside, shoving the denim down as she does so.

Arthur groans and rolls to the side, pulling the jeans off completely, followed by his socks. He sees the wound on the sole of his foot from the lamp for the first time finally, but still pays little heed to it.

 _More important things to attend right now._ He rolls back over, close beside her, hooking his leg over hers, mingling the warmth of her body with his.

"I missed you so much, Arthur," she turns into him and whispers against his throat. "I was mad at you, but I missed you still." His arms close around her, holding her against him, tenderly, softly, but with an urgency. A desperation, almost.

He kisses the top of her head, inhaling the lilacs there as he closes his eyes. Slowly they begin to move again, her hand sliding around his ribcage, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip, his fingers picking at the waistband of her knickers before slipping underneath.

Gwen slips a foot between his calves, and Arthur lifts her face to his, leaning down to kiss her lips softly yet passionately, a series of small, nibbling kisses that gradually build into deep, hungry kisses until they are both breathless.

"Guinevere," he sighs her name as he removes the last tiny stitch of clothing between them, gliding his hand back up her leg once she's kicked them away to the floor.

He starts to lean over her, but she presses back, pushing him down against the pillows, ravishing his lips with hers, suddenly urgent, climbing over him, straddling his stomach.

She sits back and stares down at him a moment, her eyes dark with passion but overflowing with love; an expression mirrored back at her from his eyes.

Arthur reaches his hands up and closes them over her breasts, marveling once again at how they fit so perfectly into his hands, how her body seems built for him alone. Gwen sighs contentedly at his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. She places her hands over his, then slides them down, over his arms and up to his shoulders, leaning forward again to close her lips over his.

She kisses his jaw, over to his ear, where she nibbles a bit and teases him with her tongue until he shivers. Then down his neck, scooting her body lower as she dots kisses on his shoulders, his chest, licking and biting one of his nipples.

He grunts hoarsely, his hands clutching her shoulders, her hair. Unable to take any more, he flips her over suddenly, drawing a giggling yelp from her as her head once again hits the pillow and she is beneath him again, lifting her face to his.

Arthur kisses her ardently, his hands on either side of her face holding her gently, like a precious jewel.

He pulls away slowly, sucking her lower lip softly between his as he lifts his head. She whimpers quietly as he leaves her lips but sighs happily as he kisses a trail down her neck to her breasts, sucking one dark nipple into his mouth to flick at it with his tongue.

Gwen moves her legs, sliding the insides of her thighs against his hips, her feet against his legs. Arthur takes the hint and reaches down, finally touching her, groaning against her breasts as he feels how slick and warm she is. He slides two fingers into her and she moans his name. He slips them out and runs them around her most sensitive spot and she cries out and grips his head.

Arthur tries to move lower, wanting to kiss her below, wanting to worship every inch of her, make her feel nothing but pleasure after causing her so much pain. She senses his intended destination and pulls his head back up to hers.

"No… I want you inside me…" she purrs in his ear, biting it.

"But…"

"You can do it later. I want you, _now._ " She reaches down for him, sliding her palm on him a few times before guiding him into her with a long moan.

"Oh, Guinevere," he whispers hoarsely into her neck as he pushes into her, her familiar warmth surrounding him. _This is where I belong,_ he finds himself thinking, and he starts to move his hips, thrusting, finding their rhythm again.

Gwen's hands are everywhere. His face, his shoulders, his chest, his buttocks, his back. She can't seem to settle on one location, and the friction of her slender fingers all over Arthur's body is making him tingle.

He opens his eyes to look at her, watching her head toss, her lips part just before she bites her lower lip and whimpers, her fingers gripping his shoulders now.

Arthur moves faster, plunges deeper, harder, and drops his head to kiss her again, their tongues mingling and playing.

"I love you so much, Arthur," Gwen gasps, pulling her lips away, and then she is tumbling, plummeting into a sea of unbearable sensation, digging her nails hard into his shoulders and crying out.

"Oh…" Arthur groans, burying his face into her neck and thrusts deeply, falling right along with her, panting and sweating and just _happy._

"And I love you," he whispers in her ear after a moment, once his brain is able to function again, once his heartbeat and breathing slow a bit.

xXx

"So how many women have you alienated in your quest for ultimate alpha-male dominance?" Gwen asks later, curled into his side, her head on his shoulder.

"Ha," he laughs. "More than you want to know about, probably. There were two that lasted longest, though, before I was unceremoniously tossed on my ear. Sophia, the summer before I went to University, was the first. She lasted two whole months before she gave me my walking papers."

"What did you do?"

"Oh, so you automatically assume it was my fault?" he asks, smirking.

"Obviously."

"Okay, so it was. I was a possessive bastard, what else? Wouldn't so much as let her speak to another man," he admits, looking away, ashamed of his past behavior. "It got to the point where I was ordering for her at restaurants and stalking the store where she was had a summer job."

"Arthur, really," she chides.

"I know, I know, you don't need to yell at me. I do like to think that I've grown since then."

"You have," she says, kissing his shoulder. "Some."

"Hey!"

"Just because I've forgiven you and we've made up quite, um, thoroughly," she says, looping her leg over his, "doesn't mean I won't be giving you shit about this for a while."

"Point taken."

"So who was the other?"

"Elena. That was at Uni. Month and a half, only. Walked in on her hugging some strange bloke, and I yanked him away from her and punched him."

"Arthur!"

"Turned out he was her cousin that she hadn't seen in three years."

She just _looks_ at him. "Gee, he jumps to the wrong conclusion, who would have thought?"

"Guinevere…"

"I know, I know, sorry. But I did warn you."

"Yes, and I do deserve it. For the record, storming into your flat and searching for a hidden lover was a first for me."

"Noted."

"Oh, and my failed relationships have not been _all_ my fault," he says, brightening up some.

"Do tell," she says, turning slightly and leaning on her elbow to look down at him.

First he lifts his head and kisses her again. Then again, and yet again, momentarily distracted.

"Arthur," she reminds him.

"Right," he drops his head back to the pillow, his hands resting on her lower back now. "Vivian. Also at University. Before Elena. She was willing to put up with anything I did. Completely happy to be possessed by me."

"Nutter."

"Totally and completely barmy," he confirms. "Girl was obsessed. I think she was worse than me on the possessiveness scale."

"So what happened?"

"I tried to break it off. She was getting too intense. I wasn't ready for that level of deep commitment at that time," he pauses, and the phrase _at that time_ resonates through Gwen's mind.

"Luckily her father found out about us. Didn't approve of me at all. So he made her transfer schools to one back home in Stockholm."

"Wow, he _made_ her?"

"Her father is Olaf Jorgensen. He can bloody well do as he pleases, you know?"

"Yes, sort of the Uther Pendragon of Sweden," she chuckles.

"Right. Plus he was footing the bill for her education, so…"

"And there we have it."

"For all I know, she's up there pining away for me still," he says, looking just a tiny bit smug about this possibility.

"Poor girl," Gwen teases, sticking a pin right into that bubble.

"So tell me about this Lance," he says, changing the subject as he toys idly with her hair.

"Lancelot. We dated at University for about half a year."

"Long time."

"Yeah. He was a year older, and was set to graduate while I had one year left. He was in Arts Management, and wanted to go to Paris after graduation. Absorb the artistic ambience, sort of thing. Plus his parents were from France."

"Were?"

"Well, his father's passed now, but his mother is back there. She's actually from Chile, but she's in Nice now," she says, sounding a bit sad. Arthur doesn't ask.

"So he left," he says simply.

"Yep, up and left. Didn't ask me to follow, didn't so much as ask me to wait or even write."

"Strange."

"I know. I was heartbroken and confused. But I found out later through a mutual friend that he didn't think he should ask those things of me. Didn't think it would be fair of him."

"He should have told you that."

"Exactly. So I moved on. Sort of. Concentrated on my studies that last year, and since then I've dated some, but never more than two dates with the same guy."

Arthur is quiet a minute. "So… was this Lance-a-lot the one who never…" his eyes drift down below her waist.

"Drank like a hummingbird at the flower of my womanhood?" she asks.

"What?" he laughs.

"Romance novels, sorry. But yes. He was the one."

"Well, then, you're better off without him," he declares.


	32. Chapter 32

"Hello, this is Gwen," Gwen answers her phone late Friday morning.

"Good morning, my love," a smooth familiar baritone voice coos in her ear. "You left me sleeping in your flat this morning. That wasn't fair."

"You were dead to the world, Arthur," she says, smiling. "I did try to wake you."

"You did?"

"Yes, I shook your shoulder and kissed your forehead and talked to you and everything."

"What did I do?"

"You mumbled something like 'the hedgehogs have taken my trousers' or some such nonsense, rolled over, and started snoring."

"Ah."

"I don't mean to be brusque, but is there a point to this call, or are you just phoning to hassle me for not waking you?"

"I thought I would call and see if you were available for lunch. Seeing as how my trying to surprise you on Monday ended poorly," he says sheepishly.

She laughs, and he breathes. "Yes, I would love lunch. Oh! Come a little early and you can see my office. I don't have your paintings back from the framer's yet, but you can help me decide where to place them."

"They're not done yet?"

"They are, but I couldn't…" she leaves the sentence hanging.

"You couldn't bring yourself to pick them up."

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"Michael's Custom Framing."

"That's on the way; I'll get them for you."

"You don't have to…"

"Yes, I do."

xXx

Two hours later, Arthur strides through the doors, into the main lobby, prepared to deal with the snotty receptionist this time.

"Can I help… oh," she says, recognizing him. "She's on three now," she adds, waving her pen vaguely in the direction of the lift.

"Thank you, Sunshine, always a pleasure," Arthur answers, shifting the paintings slightly so he can press the button. He hears her sigh behind him, so he grins and says, "Ah, but you remembered me, darling, didn't you?" He winks at her and turns to walk into the lift.

 _Okay, so she's on three, but where? I'm sure it won't be a private floor like Gaius has._ The doors slide open and he walks out, standing and staring, peering at the wall of doors to his left, then the ones to his right. There are a few desks in a large area in the center, people sitting and typing, peering at manuscripts. People on phones. An older man pushing a cart full of envelopes and packages.

"You lost, young man?" he asks, pausing near him.

"Um, can you point me to Guinevere Degrance's office?"

"Third on the left," he points. "Delivery for her?" he asks, noting the paintings under Arthur's arm.

"Something like that," Arthur answers. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," the old man says, heaving his cart along.

Arthur knocks on the door, noting that the nameplate on the outside of her office door is blank.

"Arthur!" she looks up, setting her pen down and standing.

"You don't have a name yet," he points, frowning.

"It's on order. The one from my old desk upstairs doesn't fit," she shrugs, leaning over to give him a quick kiss.

"This is quite nice," he says, looking around. "You even have a window."

"Not much of a view, though," she says, reaching for her paintings.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, here," he chuckles, handing them over as he looks out. "Lovely. A carpark."

"I know. These turned out nicely. How much do I owe you?" she asks, holding up the garden painting, then the field painting.

"That was smart to match the frames. Especially because this is a small space," Arthur leans over her, looking over her shoulder, ignoring her question.

"Arthur? The tab?"

"I paid for it. You are not paying me back." She opens her mouth to argue, and he raises his eyebrows at her. "No arguments, Guinevere."

There is a knock at her door. "Gwen?"

"Hmm? Oh, hi, Ron," she says, as Arthur steps back so he isn't hovering quite so intimately over her.

"Ron, this is my boyfriend, Arthur," she introduces them.

"We've met, actually," Arthur smiles, shaking the man's hand now. "He helped me find your office."

"Paulette didn't tell you?" Gwen asks, frowning.

"Is she the stuck-up… person," he settles on, "at the reception desk downstairs?"

She nods.

"No. All she said was that you were on three."

Gwen rolls her eyes and Ron chuckles. "Nice to meet you, young man. So, Gwen, this is the friend of Will's new bright star, then, right?"

Gwen smiles. "Yes, thanks in part to you. Arthur, Ron had Merlin's manuscript squirreled away. I wouldn't be here right now if he hadn't helped me."

Ron actually blushes. "Was nothing. I just hate to see all those hopes get tossed in the bin, you know? And if one of them turns out successful, then that makes it all worth the effort."

"Well, Merlin is over the moon, sir, and so is Guinevere. And me."

Ron smiles and reaches over to his cart. "Mail," he says, handing her a couple envelopes and a parcel that looks like a manuscript. "And…" he reaches over and hands her a hammer and two nails, which Arthur intercepts.

"I saw that he was bringing you some art and I thought you might need something to hang them with."

"Thanks," Arthur says.

"Can I see?" Ron asks.

"Of course," Gwen says, motioning him over.

"These are very nice," he says. "I like this one, the farm field. I was a farm lad myself, you know," he smiles. "Where did you get these?"

"Arthur painted them," Gwen says, beaming proudly at him.

"Indeed?" Ron asks, looking up, eyebrows raised.

Arthur merely nods, but his heart is pounding. _He's just the mailroom guy, but he likes them. And he may know people._

"You are very talented, Arthur. These are quite good," he says, glancing at his watch. "Oh. Must dash. Gwen, just leave the hammer on your desk; I'll pick it up later."

"Thanks again, Ron," Gwen says. Turning to Arthur, she asks, "Now. Where?"

"Here," Arthur says decisively, lifting both paintings up and putting them on the same wall, separated, filling the space evenly.

"Not one on this wall and the other on that?" she asks pointing to the opposite wall.

"No. Both on the same wall. Put your diploma or something on that wall," he waves over to the opposite space. "This is where these should go."

"You seem quite sure of yourself," she says, still not convinced.

"Go out there and then come back in," he tells her, lifting the paintings back into place. "Quickly. I'm not Superman, here."

Gwen scurries out, then walks back in. "Ah, I see. Anyone that walks in will see them. This wall doesn't get as much attention," she says, pointing to the other.

Arthur goes about hanging the paintings for her, so Gwen decides to do a little work, opening her mail.

"Your neighbor may complain," he says, hammer poised in the air.

"He'll get over it. Proceed," she says, waving her hand.

He no sooner starts pounding when they get another visitor.

"Gwen, what on earth… oh, I see. Decorating."

"Sorry, Gary, just two paintings. We'll be done in no time," she apologizes.

Arthur smiles apologetically over his shoulder at the man, who appears to be in his mid-50s, with a kind face and intelligent eyes.

"Not to worry. I'll take it as a hint to take lunch," he says, looking at the painting that Arthur has just hung. "Very nice. Who's the artist?"

"Him," Gwen points. "My boyfriend, Arthur."

"Impressive work, young man," he says, looking over at Arthur, his eye flitting up to blink briefly at his unusual hairstyle, but he quickly recovers. "May I see the other?"

"Thank you," Arthur says quietly, handing the picture to Gwen, who passes it over.

"Very nice," Gary repeats. "Wisteria," he says absently, nodding, as if he approves of the flower. He hands it back to Gwen, takes one last look at the field painting, nods again, and says, "All right. I'm off. Make all the noise you want."

Gwen laughs.

"Unusual man," Arthur comments.

"He's really fantastic. Knows absolutely everything. Kind of taken me under his wing, actually."

"That's good," he says, scowling, trying to straighten the painting on the wall. "There," he declares, just as Gwen's phone rings.

"Hello, this is Gwen," she answers, hoping it's not Marcus Ryan. "Oh, good, you got my message. Yes." She twirls her pen between her fingers, listening for a few seconds. "Yes, it's good. All better. Fantastic," she says. Arthur's brows furrow, wondering who is on the line. " _Yes,_ " she laughs, "I promise I didn't."

"Tonight? Um, should be fine." Now Arthur is really puzzled, and he tries to catch her eye. _Tonight is a Friday night. She shouldn't be doing any work on a Friday night._

"Just after five, then… Dinner after would be great." She finally glances up at Arthur, sees the look on his face, and gives him a completely perplexing thumbs-up.

_Well, that's no help. But it's something good._

"All right, Lance, see you then," she says, hanging up the phone.

_Oh, Lance. OH._

"Lance?" Arthur asks quietly.

Gwen stands. "I left a message with his service this morning that you had come crawling back to me and begged my forgiveness, so the show is back on," she says, glancing out the door before standing and slowly wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Back on?" he asks.

"He was going to scrap it when you acted like a… what was the word he used? Shitbag. I asked him to wait."

"Thank you," he says, overwhelmed that even when he had hurt her so badly, when she was probably as heartsore and as broken as he was, she still had the goodness in her heart to extend him another chance, to wait for him to come around.

"I don't deserve you, you know," he says, squeezing her.

"I know," she says, her lips curling into a wry smile, teasing him.

"But I definitely need you," he whispers. "And I love you."

"Arthur," she quietly says, "I need you, too, don't you know that? When you were gone it felt like half of me was gone as well. I was empty."

"Really?" he asks, blinking at her.

"Yes, really, you impossible man." She leans up and, with another quick glance out her door, gives him a kiss. "Now. I'm hungry, and you promised me lunch."

She pulls away from him and takes his hand, leading him out her office door.

"So what's tonight?" he asks.

"Oh yeah. We're going to Lance's gallery to talk about your show. Then dinner." She says this as casually as if they were discussing the weather, pressing the button on the lift.

"What?"

xXx

Arthur is waiting for Gwen outside her office on his motorcycle when she emerges from the building at four minutes past five.

"Ooo, I love a man who is punctual," she says, grinning at him as she climbs on behind him and wraps her arms around his waist and kissing his neck.

"Jacket," he says, waiting.

She makes an exasperated noise and shrugs the oversized garment on.

"Do you _want_ your father to kill me?" he asks.

She says nothing and leans into his back again, arms resuming their place about his middle.

Arthur is about to start the motor when a horrifying thought occurs to him. "You didn't tell him, did you? Your father? About what I did?" he turns around and looks at her, eyes wide.

"No," she chuckles. "Not yet, anyway."

"What?"

"Kidding. Go."

He hesitates again. "I'm nervous, Guinevere."

She kisses his neck again, then his cheek. "I know. It'll be fine, Love. But we shouldn't keep him waiting."

Arthur starts the engine, which, still warm, takes immediately. As he follows Gwen's directions, he keeps reminding himself: _Be good. He's not after her. He's giving me a fucking gallery opening. So fucking be nice, even if he's a complete twat. Even if he's completely charming and intelligent. Especially then._

"Right up here, on the left," she points, giving him another squeeze, as if she can feel his anxiety.

They climb off the bike and she stows the jacket in its place. Taking his hand, she looks up at him. "Come on."

Arthur looks at the building, a simple storefront with a red door and a large plate glass window to one side. The painting currently hanging there looks strangely familiar; he's seen it somewhere before but cannot quite place it. The sign above the entrance says _Galerie Etienne._

 _I thought his name was Lancelot,_ he muses, walking through the door, trying not to be put off by the use of the French spelling of gallery, reminding himself that Lance is half French. _But he still may be pretentious,_ he thinks sarcastically.

"Gwen," Lance calls to her, smiling broadly as he strides forward. Arms outstretched, he embraces her shoulders and kisses her on both cheeks.

 _French twat,_ Arthur thinks, but to his credit, remains still.

"Sorry we're a little late," she apologizes.

"Nonsense, you're not late at all," he waves her off, glancing at Arthur.

Arthur is studying the other paintings on display. _I know this artist,_ he thinks, _it's on the tip of my tongue._

"Um, Lance, this is Arthur Pendragon. Arthur, Lancelot Delacroix."

Lance slowly extends his hand, still unhappy about recent events. Arthur smiles and shakes it warmly, trying his hardest to be friendly. "Drag," he says.

"What?"

"Please call me Drag. Everyone does. Well, everyone except Guinevere."

"Um, all right," he says, brows furrowing slightly.

Suddenly it hits Arthur. "Delacroix!" he announces triumphantly. Gwen looks at him.

"Etienne Delacroix! I've been trying to remember where I've seen these paintings before; it's been on the tip of my tongue and my brain just put the pieces together, sorry," he laughs.

Gwen squeezes his hand. "Etienne Delacroix was Lance's—"

"Father," Arthur finishes, turning to look at Lance, suddenly liking the other man a little more based on nothing more than his respect for the elder Delacroix's work. "I must admit, he is an influence; I love his work. It's so… visceral, so primal. Passionate."

"Thank you, that means a lot to hear you say that, actually. This place is dedicated to his memory, so it is only fitting that the first works I have on display are his," Lance nods, finally smiling at Arthur, pleased that he seems to hold his father's work in high regard.

"Your father was a great man," Arthur says. "They did a big write-up on him in the _Times_ when he died."

Lance chuckles. "Yes, Gwen told me the same thing."

"I have a copy of it, if you'd like to see it sometime," Arthur offers.

Gwen is surprised. _Wow, who would have thought?_

"Yes, I think I'd like to see it, thank you. I was with him in Paris when he died, so I didn't see any press here."

"So…" Gwen interjects, "how does this work, exactly? How do we get this ball rolling?"

"Well," Lance says, leading them to some red leather chairs just behind the front window, "we go through Drag's works, choose the best ones for display, advertise, and hope people show up and buy stuff. Simple."

"See? Simple," Arthur jokes, giving an overwhelmed look to Gwen.

Gwen laughs, reaching over to take his hand. "He's a bit overwhelmed by everything yet. He just found out about this last night."

"So… does that mean he didn't call you until yesterday?" Lance asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, I didn't call, I went over to her flat. Apologized in person," Arthur defends himself. _Please don't tell him that Merlin dropped me off,_ he thinks, glancing at Gwen.

"Hmm," Lance says, narrowing his eyes a bit.

"Lance, we're good. Let it go. He groveled the appropriate amount, and I didn't let him off the hook easily."

"Fine," Lance sighs, raising his hands in surrender.

"I would have bent down and kissed her feet if she would have let me," Arthur supplies.

Gwen gives him a sideways glance, knowing he's trying to make her laugh now. _You won't win._

"Um… yes. All right, I'll leave it," Lance says, seeing something pass between the two of them, but he decides he really doesn't want to know.

"So. When can I see what you've got?"

"But sir, we've only just met," Arthur blurts before he can help himself.

Gwen laughs loudly, and Lance opens his mouth, dumbstruck for a moment before he starts laughing as well.

"Sorry, mate, I can't help it sometimes. All my paintings are at my flat."

"In a _closet,_ " Gwen adds. "Except for two of them, which I have commandeered for my office."

"Well, your paintings definitely won't sell if they're hiding in your closet," Lance says. "And how does three weeks from today sound? We'll open on a Friday night; have a big opening party with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Oh, and we'll need flyers." He's rolling now, talking fast, ticking off a mental checklist in his head. "Now, you can design the flyers yourself or I can contract someone. Many artists wish to do their own."

"Gwaine," Arthur says, looking at Gwen.

"Gwaine?" Gwen asks.

"He's a brilliant graphic artist. This would totally be his thing," Arthur says.

"Who is Gwaine?" Lance asks.

"He owns the tattoo parlor where I work," Arthur explains.

"Tattoo… parlor…" Lance says slowly, taking in the concept of this brilliant painter tattooing people for a living.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that?" Gwen laughs. "He has to pay the bills, you know."

"Yes, yes, of course. Well, we'll see if we can't do something about that," he says, looking up, lost in thought for a moment.

"Lance?" Gwen prompts.

"Right. Sorry. So, find out if this Gwaine bloke will do your flyers. Get me a design and I'll get them printed up, have some made large for posters. Then we send the flyers out to the appropriate people."

"Appropriate being…?" Arthur asks.

"Well, your friends and family, you'll want their support, obviously. And anyone in the art community that you may know. I have a few names floating around in my head that I'll send them to as well. We'll tack some up in key locations. We want people to come. And buy. And, God willing, _commission._ "

"Wouldn't that be nice," Arthur sighs wistfully at the prospect of someone paying him in advance just because they want _him_ to paint something for them.

"So. Back to the important question: when can I see your paintings in person?"

xXx

"…and then Guinevere thrust her knee into his bollocks, and he collapsed on the bench," Arthur says, pausing to take a drink of water. Lance chuckles at Gwen's bravery, already knowing that while she is small, she is not to be taken lightly.

"But then that other idiot Cenred decided to slap her and that was _it._ " Arthur's face clouds.

"What? Gwen, you didn't tell me any of this," Lance gasps, shocked.

"When did I get a chance?" she asks. "And stop looking like a scandalized old lady. I'm fine now. More than fine," she says, smiling at Arthur, reaching her foot over to him under the table.

"So what happened then?" Lance asks, looking from Gwen to Arthur and back.

"I punched him," Arthur says. "Broke his nose."

"It sounded really disgusting," Gwen laughs. "Like a wet crunch."

Lance makes a face, looking down at his plate. _Somehow this salmon doesn't look so appetizing anymore._

"Sorry," Gwen says, seeing him poke at his fish. She takes a big scoop of her risotto, just to needle him.

"Squeamish, Lance?" Arthur asks, amused.

"No," Lance answers.

"Yes," Gwen amends.

"All right, so then what? You punched this… Cedric person…"

"Cenred," Arthur corrects. "Beverly Cenred, actually," he smirks.

"Beverly?"

"Family name. Allegedly."

Lance laughs. "I'll never complain about my name again."

"So, yeah, I punched him, and then introduced myself to Guinevere like the proper gentleman that I am," he says straightening in his seat.

"Right. And it was, what? Love at first sight?"

Arthur is puzzled as to why Lance is so interested in how they met and their relationship. _Seems odd for him to be so curious about his ex's current relationship. But hey, this is my opportunity to be alpha male without getting in trouble._

"Well, truth be told, I'd had my eye on her for about a month before I actually talked to her. Rescued her. Whatever it was," Arthur admits.

"Let's just say he was very charming and sweet and he took me to meet his friends who were standing across the street so I wouldn't have to feel like I had to avoid them any more. Then he drove me home to my flat to make sure I was okay and I got home safely," Gwen says, setting her fork down across her plate and putting her napkin back on the table, full.

"And she invited me in and made me brunch." _Eventually._

"Oh, really?" Lance asks.

 _He's not buying it,_ Gwen realizes.

"Okay, okay, I _eventually_ made him brunch," Gwen laughs, blushing a little bit.

"Gwen!" Lance exclaims, his eyes widening.

" _What?_ " she challenges. Arthur wisely studies his steak, cutting a bite very carefully and precisely.

"Nothing. I just didn't think…"

"Are you insinuating that I have become a slut?"

"No! No. No. Honest," he says, trying to dig himself out of the hole he's somehow gotten himself into. "I'm just… surprised, that's all."

Gwen laughs. "I was, too."

Arthur chokes on his bite of steak. Gwen pounds his back and he reaches for his water.

"Okay, Love?" she asks once he regains himself.

"I need some dessert," he croaks out.

"Of course you do," she smiles.

Arthur gets a slice of lemon merengue pie, Lance orders crème brulee. Gwen steals bites of both.

"Pub?" Arthur asks, once the waiter leaves with the paid bill, that Lance insisted on paying, citing it as a business expense.

"What pub?" Lance asks.

"Yes," Gwen says to Arthur, then turns to Lance. "You're new in town again. You need to meet some people. You'll probably get to meet Gwaine, I'm sure he'll be there."

"All right, then. I'll follow you."


	33. Chapter 33

Being Friday night, parking is troublesome. Lance finds a place for his Citroën a ways up the block, and Arthur piggybacks on the spot, squeezing his motorcycle in sideways in front of Lance's car, the front tire on the sidewalk.

"Arthur, you're going to get a citation," Gwen cautions, but Arthur seems unconcerned.

"Nice motorbike," Lance comments as Gwen once again stuffs Arthur's jacket away.

"Thank you. Her name is Morgana," Arthur says, sweeping his arm grandly.

"Morgana? Named after whom?"

"His sister," Gwen says.

Lance gives Arthur a puzzled look. "Does she know?" he asks.

"Yes. Quite proud of it, actually. Both temperamental bitches," he laughs.

"His sister is quite nice," Gwen says to Lance.

"Yeah, to you. You've never seen her at work. Or when she's mad at me."

"Ah, now, there's where you're wrong. Who do you think called Merlin and told him to go over to your flat Thursday?" Gwen grins impishly at him.

" _What?_ "

"Yeah, had a chat with your darling twin sister on Thursday morning. She called me."

"I'm dead," Arthur tells Lance.

"How do you think I knew that Merlin brought you?"

"I did wonder," Arthur says. "So, Lance," he turns to the other man, eager to change the subject. "Did you pick that Citroën up in Paris?"

"Yes," he answers, and they finally start walking. Gwen smiles and listens quietly while they talk cars, happy that they are actually getting along.

"It's been in storage for the last six months, though, while I was in New York," Lance continues. "So I think it could use a little tune-up."

"You were in New York, too?" Arthur asks.

"Yeah, it's been crazy. Graduation, then Paris. Then Papa died. Got the opportunity in New York, so I went there, leaving a lot of my things in storage in Paris. Decided I wanted to open my own gallery here, so I came back, stopped to visit my mother, got my stuff and ferried it back here."

"Your mother is in Paris, then?" Arthur asks.

"No, she's, um, in Nice. In hospital."

"Oh, sorry, mate, I didn't know she was ill."

"It's all right. Not a deep dark secret or anything. She's perfectly healthy physically, but her mind is gone."

"Oh, wow, that must be rough."

"It is, but I make sure to visit her whenever I can. Even though she thinks I'm Tío Jorge," he chuckles.

Arthur makes a confused face. "Tío?"

"Tío is Spanish for uncle," Gwen explains.

"Yeah," Lance says. "She thinks I'm her brother. But this is depressing talk. Where is this pub?"

"Right here, actually," Arthur points, then exclaims, "Ox! What the fuck are you doing here?" He slaps his friend companionably on the shoulder

Ox grins and says, "Helping Leon, as promised. Justin is at home heaving his guts out. Must have gotten flu or eaten some bad prawns or something. So, since I said I'd help when I could, here I am." He smiles down at Gwen, happy to see her. "Gwen, I'm so glad you're back with us," he says, reaching down to give her one of his huge hugs. He's had a soft spot for her ever since she helped him make training at Scotland Yard, and hugs her every chance he gets.

"It's good to be back," she answers. "Now put me down, please."

"Sorry," he says, setting her on her feet and stifling a yawn.

"Did you have training today? You must be tired," she asks.

"Exhausted, darling, but what kind of mate would I be if I left Leon in the lurch, right? Who's this?"

"Oh!" she exclaims. "Ox, this is Lance, a friend of mine recently returned to London. He's… wait," she pauses as the men shake hands and exchange pleasantries. "We have to tell them all at the same time or they'll behave like babies," Gwen says to Arthur.

"Indeed," Arthur agrees. "Ox, my good man, please join us inside."

Ox opens the door and follows them in.

"Sparrow!"

"Gwen!"

Gwen smiles as the lads express their joy at seeing her back with Arthur. Arthur motions impatiently, waving them over to the section of the bar where Leon is standing idly near Phil, trying not to fuss over her too much. She's already yelled the walls down once at him for trying too hard to take care of her while she's injured, so now he's being extra careful.

Arthur holds up his hands while the lads all start asking questions about who is Lance and did Gwen give Arthur sufficient hell.

"Shut it!" he announces. “You lot won't learn anything if you keep waving your bloody lips.” They quiet down and he continues. “First: Gwen has forgiven me for being a jealous twat. So you can call off the angry mob and return the pitchforks to your local garden supply store for a full refund.”

"Bugger," Gwaine and Phil both say, endeavoring to look thoroughly disappointed. Arthur gives them both a rude hand gesture and continues.

"Second: This bloke is Lance, the wanker who I caught Gwen having lunch with on Monday."

"Let him get there," Gwen whispers to Lance, who looks thoroughly puzzled at being introduced as a "wanker."

"However, Monsieur Delacroix is the owner of a _new_ art gallery over on Portabello. An art gallery that is going to be featuring the work of a promising young artist with whom you are all well-acquainted." Arthur poses and preens now, and Gwen rolls her eyes.

"Hey, thanks, mate, I didn't know you knew my work," Gwaine says, standing and grinning.

Phil grabs her brother's waistband, quick as a flash, and yanks him back to his seat. "Sit down, Fucknut."

The lads all cheer and congratulate Arthur. Merlin hugs him, then Gwen, then shakes Lance's hand.

"Merlin, a round of drinks for everyone," Leon announces, then he stops. "Wait, it's not like you shitheads pay for your drinks anyway…"

"Yes, but the _meaning_ is there," Gwaine says reassuringly, patting Leon on the shoulder. "I'll have a double whiskey on the rocks, my good man," he tells Merlin.

"He'll have a pint," Leon says. Merlin pours a pint.

Lance and Arthur sit at the bar, and Merlin hands them each a glass.

"Gwen?" he asks, holding an empty mug aloft.

"Yes, but right now I need to pee. Be right back," she says, quickly kissing Arthur's cheek before turning.

"Wait, Girlie, I'm floating over here," Phil calls, hopping to her feet and holding her hand out to Leon, who hands her her crutches.

"Somehow I don't think Leon wants to assist me in the ladies'," Phil says to Gwen as they walk to the loo. "And Gwaine said 'no fucking way,'" she laughs.

"Good thing I turned up, then," Gwen says, smiling.

"Yeah, because the few other girls in here are all drunk or I just don't like them," Phil says. "And it's a bloody good thing that Drag came to his bloody senses," she adds darkly as Gwen opens the door for her.

"So you're the soon-to-be-famous writer?" Lance asks Merlin.

"Hope so," Merlin says, shrugging.

"Well, I can't wait to read your book once it's published. Gwen told me all about it."

"Thanks, that means a lot."

"She spoke very highly of both you and Drag. Thinks the world of you both," Lance says, taking a drink. "Now this, I've missed. Can't get a proper pint anywhere else."

Merlin laughs and pours Gwen's Guinness when he sees her returning, setting it on the bar for her.

"Hello, Drag," a familiar and unwelcome voice coos behind him. He sighs and turns his head to see Portia standing there, eyeing him hungrily.

She steps forward and drapes her arm over his shoulders and says, "So, a little birdie tells me that you and that _girlfriend_ of yours have—"

"Ahem."

Portia turns to see Gwen standing there with her hands on her hips and a deadly glint in her eyes. Not only that, but Phil is close at hand, a loose cannon if ever there was.

"Oh." Portia drops her arm immediately and steps away from Arthur. Then she notices Lance.

"Hello, gorgeous, you're new," she says, turning her back on Arthur, leaning forward into Lance slightly, running her finger along the collar of his shirt.

Lance looks over Portia's shoulder at Arthur and Gwen, who are both giving him wide-eyed, stern looks of warning. Arthur even shakes his head _no_ just slightly, circling his finger next to his ear and mouthing the word, "crazy."

Lance looks her straight in the eye and says, "Lo siento, pero no hablo Inglés." He removes her hands from his chest.

"What?" Portia blinks, confused.

"Je suis désolé, mais je ne parle pas anglais," he says now, changing languages just to be difficult.

"Apparently he doesn't speak English," Merlin shrugs, biting the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Arthur and Gwen are dying behind Portia.

"He was just talking to _you,_ " Portia protests, turning on Merlin.

"La pauvre fille est confuse," Merlin says to Lance in perfect French. _The poor girl is confused._

Lance raises his eyebrows, impressed, and says, "Un verre de plus et elle sera en mesure de nous comprendre." _One more drink and she'll be able to understand us._

Merlin laughs.

"What did he say?" Portia demands.

Merlin looks back at Lance, who says, "Je ne suis pas intéressé par ce qu'elle vend."

"He says he's not interested in what you are selling," Merlin translates.

Arthur nearly falls from his stool laughing now, and Gwen has her hands clamped tightly over her mouth.

"I guess you're out of luck, Portia, dear," Gwen recovers herself enough to say.

"What…?" Portia pouts.

"I'll translate that one," Phil speaks up. "Push off, slag." She nudges Portia with one of her crutches.

"Hey, watch it, you ugly twat," Portia snaps at her. Loudly.

 _Oh, no,_ is the collective thought of everyone within earshot, even Lance, though he's not sure why. Phil's eyes narrow and she looks like she's about to wield a crutch like a cricket bat and get down to some serious business.

"Portia: out." Leon stomps forward, followed closely by Gwaine.

"I've never hit a woman before, but I might make an exception in your case," Gwaine threatens, cracking his knuckles loudly. Ox comes over and takes Portia's elbow, gently but firmly, and escorts her to the door. He glances at Leon and the two have a silent conversation that takes all of two seconds, resulting in Ox informing Portia that she is no longer welcome at this pub.

"But—"

"You're barred," Ox clarifies. "Go home and sleep it off." He closes the door and mutters, "And you might want to think about re-examining your life while you're at it, you stupid bitch."

Phil holds her head high as she hobbles away, but Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon can all tell that she was stung by Portia's words. Leon helps her back to her stool, where he simply holds her hand, lifting it to his lips just once, giving her the space she needs but the comfort she craves.

Gwen watches them a minute, concerned for her friend. Leon leans over and Gwen sees him whisper, "You are beautiful and I love you," in her ear and kiss her cheek. Phil looks down at her lap and reaches her hand up to caress his face, a small smile creeping about her lips.

_She's fine. She knows which opinions matter._

Gwaine's face is still cloudy, but he sees his sister smiling again, so he shrugs and takes a long pull from his glass.

"Sorry about that, Lance. She's been a thorn in Arthur's side for a very long time, apparently," Gwen says. She takes a drink of her Guinness, then remembers she hasn't introduced Lance officially to the rest of the group.

"So. You've met Merlin," she says, and he nods.

"Good chap," Lance says.

"He's dating Freya. Just so you know."

"Got it." He nods, seriously.

"What's wrong with Freya?" Arthur asks.

"Nothing's wrong with her," Lance says. "She just hates me, that's all."

"Because of Guinevere?"

Lance nods.

"Yes, the best friend is often much less forgiving than the ex, right?" Arthur smirks, clearly having been down that road.

"All right, I'm trying to do introductions here," Gwen pushes Arthur's shoulder. "Okay, the tall one with the hair is Leon. This is his pub."

Leon waves. "It's really my dad's, but he's never here," he calls over.

"So it's yours," Merlin adds.

"Next to Leon is Phyllis, his girlfriend. She broke her ankle last weekend falling down the stairs."

Lance waves at Phil and she nods noncommittally.

"She's really very nice," Gwen quietly tells him. "You just have to get through her defenses."

"Oi! Don't be telling him I'm a nice person over there, Girlie!" she yells, seeming to know what Gwen is saying.

Gwen blows her a kiss and continues, laughing. "The other one with the hair is Gwaine, the one we told you about before. Arthur, go ask him," she adds, poking Arthur in the shoulder.

"Mmm. Right." He stands and moves two stools over to sit beside Gwaine.

"Gwaine and Phil are brother and sister," Gwen adds. "They live above the shop, which is next door. Merlin and Leon are flatmates and they live upstairs. Though I have a feeling that Merlin and Phil may be trading places before long."

"And you've met Ox already, who is not the usual bouncer, as you heard."

"What's he doing now?"

"He's at Scotland Yard, in training to be a police officer."

"Working with your dad?"

"Maybe one day."

"You helped him get in, didn't you?" Lance asks knowingly.

"Not really. I just made sure his application didn't get ignored," she shrugs.

"And that's why he is so fond of you."

"Probably," she laughs.

"He'll do it," Arthur says, coming back. "Overjoyed to do. Was hoping I would ask, actually," he laughs.

"Oh, good," Gwen says, pleased that the pieces are all falling into place. She finishes her pint and puts her hand over the top when Merlin comes to refill it.

"Done already?" Merlin asks.

"Tired. Had a long day reading a really stupid book," Gwen says, stretching.

"Gwen!" Lance says, shocked.

"Not _his_ book, Lance. I don't have his right now," she laughs.

"Oh, sorry," he laughs, too. "If you want to go, don't worry about me. I think I'm going to hang about for a bit," he says. "I like it here, even if I look a little out of place."

"Yeah, I do, too," Gwen laughs.

"Your friends are really great, though, I like them."

"Thanks, mate," Arthur says, grudgingly admitting to himself that he does like Lancelot. "My lady?" he asks Gwen, standing and offering his arm.

"Good sir," she laughs, standing. They bid goodbye to the guys and start for the door.

"Hey," Phil reaches out for Gwen's arm as she passes.

"Hmm?" Gwen leans over.

"Thank you for not introducing me as 'Gwaine's sister.' I get so sick of that."

xXx

"Iggy!" Gwen exclaims when she walks through the door of Arthur's flat. The cat nearly leapt on her in his excitement, meowing loudly before she picks him up and then proceeding to purr like a little motorbike after.

"Yes, I missed you, too, baby," she coos to him. "Did you make Arthur's life miserable while I was away?" She nuzzles his head with her nose.

"I have picked up more cat shit this week than I would really care to admit," Arthur says with a sigh.

"Good boy, Iggy," Gwen praises him, rubbing his ears, stroking under his chin like he likes.

"Great, encourage him."

Gwen kisses Iggy's massive head and sets him gently on the floor. "This place is a fucking sty," she declares.

"I know, I know. And this is even _after_ Merlin tidied up a bit last night."

"You're kidding."

"Wish I was."

"What happened to your lamp?" She sees the pile of rubble, which Merlin has sort of swept into a pile.

"Threw my boot at it."

She sits on the couch next to him. "Is that ale?" She angles her head, spying a dried sticky spot on the table.

"Probably."

"And why is there blood on the carpet? What the hell did you _do_ here, keep refugees or something?"

He looks down. "Oh. I stepped on a piece of lamp," he says casually.

"Let me see," she motions for his foot, and he peels his sock off and swings it up into her lap.

"It's kind of red. I'm betting you did nothing for this," she looks at him.

"Spent some time watching it ruin one of my socks. That's about it."

She makes an exasperated noise and drops his foot, standing to go get some first aid supplies.

"What's all this?" she asks on her way back, seeing the stacks of drawings.

"That's what I did this week."

" _All_ these? There must be at least 50 drawing here!"

"Well, Monday night I didn't do anything except get completely pissed," he says.

Gwen comes over with some iodine and cotton and sits again. "I thought you didn't like to get drunk," she says as she cleans the cut on the bottom of his foot.

"Yeah, but apparently being away from you is even worse," he says, wincing slightly at the sting.

"Your own fault," she says casually. "There." She gives his foot a little squeeze before releasing it to go back to look at the drawings.

"Um, Arthur…" she says, flipping through them.

"Yes, I know," he sighs. "I tried drawing other things, but it just wouldn't happen."

She moves to the face-down stack. "Arthur!"

He has the decency to blush and hide, scrunching down on the sofa. She walks over and hits him with a pillow, and he grabs her, pulling her over him.

"Did Merlin see those?" she asks.

"Maybe a little," he admits. "I was showering, and when I came out, he had those stacks made. So he would have had to see them enough to know which pile they belonged in."

She drops her head onto his shoulder. "Going to go die now."

"Guinevere," he says, his voice serious now. He lifts her face. "Don't be embarrassed by how beautiful you are." He kisses her then, slow and warm, his tongue molding to hers inside their mouths, his hands gripping the back of her shirt.

"Arthur," she says against his lips, talking in between kisses, "we need to clean this place up… Lance is coming over tomorrow."

"Later," he says, reaching up to pull some pins from her hair and plunging his hands in to the masses of curls as they fall, "I'm busy." He nips her lower lip, then moves to her neck.

"You're not playing fair," she gasps, his lips sending tingles through her belly.

"Kind of the point, my love," he mutters into her neck, grinning.

"Impossible," she moans her familiar complaint, but her hands are pulling at his shirt while his hands move to the buttons of her blouse.

"Tiny… fucking… buttons," he growls as they do not come open as quickly as he'd like.

Gwen laughs and sits back on his thighs to finish the buttons for him, pulling the shirt off and draping it over the back of the couch because it's likely the cleanest spot.

"Bra," he commands, sliding his hands against her stomach.

"Yes, it is," she observes, looking down at it.

"Guinevere…"

She laughs at him again and reaches her arms behind her to unhook the undergarment, and Arthur's hands slip under the cups to hold her breasts before she even gets it off.

Arthur scoots back, shifting them so he is over her, flipping her on to her back as he shucks his t-shirt and tosses it carelessly aside.

"Zipper," he mutters, investigating her skirt, looking for a way to remove it. "Aha," he finds one on the side and slides it down, kissing her stomach before removing it, thoughtfully placing it with her blouse and her bra on the top of the couch.

"Thank you," Gwen says, lifting her rear as he slides her panties off, pausing to kiss her toes reverently before moving up her legs, kissing his way up.

She settles back and sighs, fully expecting this attention, yet still she gasps when his tongue finds her, kissing her below. His tongue slips within her folds, his lips suckle the tight bundle of over-sensitive nerves, drawing a soft moan from her. She reaches down and puts her hands over his as they hold her thighs, and he moves them so they can link their fingers together.

Arthur slides his tongue into her, as deep as he can, and flexes it, feeling her walls, pressing against them, then back out to swirl around the nub in the front. He frees one hand from her grasp and thrusts two fingers inside while his tongue provides its sweet torment.

"Arthur…" she mewls softly, a plaintive whisper, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat, a low growl that she can feel against her.

"Oh… yes…" she sighs, clutching his hand in hers, her other gripping one of her breasts.

Arthur pulls away for a second, and she squeezes his hand. "Don't stop!"

"Need to breathe," he gasps, then dives back in, his fingers sliding in and out, his tongue flicking and stroking until she is squirming beneath him.

Gwen digs her nails into the back of his hand and cries out his name as her climax washes over her, hot and brilliant, like a bolt of lightning flashing through her.

Arthur kisses her inner thighs, slides his fingers out, and works his way back up to her face. He kisses her stomach, the little mole between her breasts, and starts to travel sideways when he lifts his head and makes a peculiar face.

She looks down at him, watching as he screws his face up, moving his mouth this way and that. He brings his hand to his lips and withdraws a single hair, which he casually declares a "naughty bugger" before disposing of it to the rug. As he calmly resumes his activity, heading for a nipple, Gwen starts laughing.

"What?" he asks, looking up at her.

"You," she says. "You're just so… _you._ " She chuckles again, pulling his face up to hers. "But I guess that's one of the reasons why I love you."

She brings his lips to hers, cupping his face between her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs.

"You still have your trousers on," she says against his lips.

"I know. That's so wrong, isn't it?"

xXx

"This is one of my favorite things," Gwen says, snuggling into his arms.

"What is? Two orgasms in one night?" he asks, smirking.

She slaps his shoulder. "No, you pervert, _this._ Just lying in your arms. True, it's usually after we've just put some bed springs to the test, but I love how I just _fit_ here."

He kisses the top of her head. "You were made for me, that's why," he says.

"What's that?"

"You haven't noticed that? We fit together perfectly. See you all tucked against me like you are? Perfect. And this…" he places his hand over her breast, "fits perfectly. Not to mention…" his eyes drift down.

Gwen hits him again, but she is giggling at him now. "So you liked Lance," she says, changing the subject, tracing patterns on his chest with a fingertip.

"Against my better judgment, yes," he admits. "Oh! I remember now what I was going to say. I think I figured out why he never did what I did to you out on the couch earlier."

"Oh? And what is your brilliant theory?"

"He's clearly gay."

"He is not gay! We dated for almost a year!"

"Maybe he didn't realize it yet," Arthur shrugs.

"So tell me, then, what evidence do you have that supports your hypothesis?" she asks, leaning up on his chest to look down at him. "Did he make a pass at you or grab your balls or something?"

He pretends to think for a moment, "Well…"

"Arthur!"

"No, he didn't."

"So…?"

"Hmm, let me see… Well, he dresses like a fucking catalog model, for one."

"He dresses well. Always has."

"He speaks French."

"He _is_ French," she rolls her eyes at him.

"Salmon and white wine at dinner?"

"He likes to eat healthily."

"Kissing on both cheeks?"

"He's continental."

"He has a soft, limp handshake."

"Arthur, you're being ridiculous. He's not gay."

"He's a total poof. His fucking _eyebrows_ are even like, groomed, or something."

Gwen just sighs. "Go to sleep. We need to get up early if we're going to make this place presentable tomorrow."

"Yes, because if there's one thing that gay guys hate, it's filth."

"Shut up."


	34. Chapter 34

Arthur wakes to a peculiar sound. He sits up, groggy, and tilts his head to the side, listening.

_I have a vacuum cleaner?_

He swings his feet to the floor, pulls on a pair of shorts, and staggers out to his living room to find Gwen pushing the vacuum around the room, singing to herself. He leans against the wall and watches her, half a grin decorating his face.

"Oh!" she jumps when she sees him. She turns of the vacuum. "Sorry. But I figured you should get up anyway," she shrugs.

"Ah, so this was my wake-up call, then," he says, walking towards her. He pulls her into his arms and smiles down at her, kissing her forehead.

"Yes. Now go take the trash out to the bin, wash the dishes in your sink, and make your bed."

"Guinevere," he whines.

She shoves his chest. "Hey, if you think I'm going to clean _your_ flat while you laze about and _watch_ me…"

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, let me go have a pee first," he says, padding back to the bathroom while she switches the vacuum back on.

Arthur emerges from the bathroom and looks around. "How long have you been up?" he asks. "This place is cleaner than it's been in a long time."

"I know." She gives him a meaningful stare.

"Don't look at me like that, Merlin is the one that cleans," he says.

"And that, my love, is truly pathetic." She stows the vacuum back in the closet in which she found it, then studies the coffee table and the beer dried on it in a sticky blob. "Trash," she reminds him.

"Right."

"Empty the cat box, too," she calls.

"Ugh."

An hour later, they have the place looking almost like new. Iggy emerged from his hiding place once Gwen stashed the vacuum and is now tearing around, enjoying the extra space provided by a clean home.

Arthur plops down on the sofa, looking around. "Wow, thanks, Sweet, this is great," he says. "Almost makes me want to start picking up after myself," he laughs, and the phone rings.

He reaches for it. "Hello?"

"Please have good news for me. I've been trying to call Gwen since last night and there's been no answer," Morgana's voice, both worried and threatening, pours through the phone.

"Yes, she's here, Mo. I was a good boy and begged her forgiveness, which she gave me though I didn't deserve it, and everything is good now."

"Good. Because my next call was going to be Gwaine."

"To have him hassle me, too, or to see if he's snapped her up in her moment of weakness?" he says.

"Both."

"Right."

"So you're getting a show, then?" she asks.

"How did you know?"

"Gwen told me."

"Oh."

"She told me _everything,_ in fact."

"Great."

"Right down to your looking in the shower and under the bed."

"All, right, I get it. Shut up about it now."

"When is it? The show."

"The opening is three weeks from yesterday," he says.

"Shit," Morgana says. "I'm in Rome then."

"You can't reschedule?"

"I'll try, but I've already put it off three times and I think Carlo is going to start to think I'm avoiding this visit," she sighs.

"You are, Mo. You hate Carlo."

"Well, _he_ doesn't need to know that."

"Bugger. You probably can come see the exhibit when you return, though, even if you'll miss the opening. They'll be up for… Guinevere, how long?"

"I don't know, we'll have to ask Lance later," she answers.

"I'll let you know when I know."

"Good. Send me a flyer anyway, though."

"Of course."

"And hey. I had another reason for calling, too."

"What's that?"

"Daddy dearest is in Berlin this weekend."

"Oh?"

"He's given the servants the weekend off as well."

"Indeed…"

"Do what you will with that knowledge, Brother. Make me proud."

Then she hangs up on him.

Arthur stares at the phone, hangs it up, and walks to the kitchen where Gwen is making them some tea. He wraps his arms around her from behind, kisses her neck, and says, "Do you want to do something almost illegal tonight?"

xXx

"I should have locked that door," Gwen teases over her shoulder at Arthur, who is stepping into the shower. She'd only just got in when she heard him stealthily open the bathroom door.

"No, you shouldn't have," he says against her neck, sliding his hands around her wet midsection.

She can already feel his stiff length pressing against her back, so she presses back against him, drawing a groan from his lips. His hands creep up to her breasts, wet and slippery, and he squeezes them gently, thumbing her nipples until they are stiff. Her head drops back against his shoulder.

"Arthur," she sighs, the hot water from the shower pounding down on them. She reaches around behind to take him in her hand, and he turns her around to face him.

"I was expecting to have to do some convincing," he chuckles, closing his lips over hers in a kiss that leaves her breathless and gripping his chest.

"Well, if I needed any, that would have done it," she gasps, bringing her arms up around his neck. He reaches down to find her already wet and swollen with need.

"Oh, God, Guinevere," he groans, teasing her with his fingers until she is making small sharp sounds in her throat, pleading for more.

He carefully lifts her, bracing her against the shower wall. She wraps her legs around his waist and he drives into her unaided, seating himself deep within her.

"Yes," she sighs, her hands clinging to his shoulders. He pulls back and thrusts upward again, holding her hips. "Oh," she gasps, "harder."

"Harder?" he asks, lifting his head from her neck.

" _Harder._ "

He growls and plants his feet as best he can on the wet shower floor and repeats his actions, more forcefully.

"Yes," she cries out, moving with him, riding him as he drives into her, nailing her to the wall while the shower beats down on his back.

He ducks his head and takes a nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, biting lightly.

"Oh… Arthur…"

Arthur moves to the other nipple, still plunging furiously into her, almost frantic for her. His fingers dig into her hips, her hands clutch at his head, holding it to her breast.

"Oh… OH!" she yells, and she presses his face into her breast tightly, her whole body registering her release.

"Mmmph," Arthur mumbles, and she releases his head, giggling a little. He continues, just a few more thrusts, and he stills, holding her tightly as he pulses within her, leaning against her, weak from his climax.

Slowly she slides down off of him, and, kissing his chest, reaches for the soap. She proceeds to wash him lovingly, feeling each muscle with her hands, making his skin tingle under her touch.

"Mmm, this is almost as good," Arthur sighs, letting her attend him.

"Almost as good as what?" she asks innocently, her face bearing a not-so-innocent smirk.

"Almost as good as shagging you senseless against the shower wall," he casually answers, leaning down to capture her lips in a swift kiss.

"I was not senseless," she protests. "Rinse."

"You nearly smothered me in your tits, Sweet. I'd say that qualifies as _senseless._ "

"Nonsense," she says, reaching for his shampoo. "My tits are not big enough to smother anyone."

Arthur laughs, hunching down so she can more easily reach his head, shampooing the remnants of the ridiculous white glue he uses out of his hair, so he can just put more in.

"My turn," Arthur declares after rinsing his head, and starts to return the favor, running soapy hands all over Guinevere's petite body.

"Behave yourself," she warns him, looking down to see the beginnings of a fresh arousal.

"Don't tell me, tell _him,_ " he nods downward at himself.

"Behave yourself," she repeats, looking down now, and he slips his soapy hand between her thighs.

"Arthur!"

"I forgot to tell you. He doesn't listen."

xXx

They step out of the shower, laughing and teasing, and Arthur suddenly stops.

"Shit. The phone," he says, throwing a towel around his waist and jogging out the door.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Drag? Lancelot."

"Oh, hey, Lance."

"Did I catch you at a bad time?"

"No, we—I mean, I was just getting out of the shower," he says.

"Right," Lance says wryly.

"Um…"

"I was calling because I wanted to know if I should bring lunch. I mean, unless you've eaten… lunch… already."

Arthur barks an involuntary laugh at Lance's bold implication. "No, lunch would be great, thanks. What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost noon. Good God, man how long were in you in that shower _all by yourself?_ "

"All right, all right, you caught me. Sheesh," he laughs.

"Any requests?"

"Let me find out." He pulls away from the phone. "Guinevere?"

She pokes her head out of the bathroom, unwinding her hair from where she had it pinned on top of her head. "Yes, Love?"

"Lance wants to bring lunch. Anything you've got a hankering for?"

"Anything is fine, you can pick," she says, then she disappears again.

"She's no help," he says to Lance, who laughs. _What can I suggest that might help me prove my case?_ He thinks. _She said he likes healthy food._ "I could really go for some fish and chips," he says, grinning.

"Great. I'll pick some up and will be over in an hour or so."

"I'll start bringing out the paintings. As soon as I put some trousers on."

"Thank you. More for the trousers than for the paintings, mind."

Arthur laughs now. "See you in an hour."

"What's he bringing?" Gwen asks, appearing in the hallway wrapped in her towel.

"You look like a goddess," he says, his eyes growing soft at the sight of her, towel around her body like a sarong, her shapely little legs and bare feet in full view, her dark curls cascading down around her shoulders, slightly tousled and loose.

She smiles at him. "That's going to end up being another painting, isn't it?" she asks knowingly.

"Possibly. He's bringing fish and chips."

"You are naughty," she laughs, knowing his mind well enough now to know that he intentionally ordered something greasy and deep fried.

"Bet you a pint he shows up with a _salad_ for himself."

"Oh, you are _on,_ " she calls over her shoulder, heading to the bedroom to dress. "And you're dripping on my clean carpet."

" _Your_ clean carpet?" he yells back, returning to the bathroom to properly dry himself off.

"When was the last time you vacuumed it?"

"I didn't even know I had a vacuum!" he yells back, laughing.

He strides into the bedroom a moment later, completely naked and as casual as you please. Gwen rolls her eyes, but secretly she peeks while she rubs moisturizer into her arms and legs.

"Ooo, my favorite show," Arthur says, yanking up his black jeans, watching her in her bra and panties, her hands running over her shining skin.

Gwen laughs and tosses the bottle at his head, which he catches easily. "Nice reflexes," she observes, holding her hands out for him to throw it back.

"Too many years playing football," he shrugs, tossing it back to her. She tucks it in her bag, beginning to wonder if she should really start leaving a few things here.

He pulls his red t-shirt over his head, the one Gwen got him in Chicago, and grins at her.

"Yes, I see. I always notice when you wear it, silly," she indulgently says, stepping into a pair of jeans and a purple shirt with a deep vee, designed to looks like it wraps around her.

"Did you make that shirt?" he asks, reaching out for her.

"No, not this one."

"I like it," he says, his eyes dropping to her cleavage.

"Dog," she teases as he leans down to place a few soft kisses on her chest.

"Woof," he says, licking her now, and she giggles.

She reaches up to start doing something with her hair, and he takes her hands, pulling them gently away. "Leave it loose," he says. "For me. Please. I love it like this." He lifts a few curls to his lips, kissing them.

"I'll try, but if it starts to get in my way, it's getting at least the front pulled back."

"Understood," he smiles. "Okay, let's get those paintings back out."

xXx

Lance knocks at 1:00 sharp, bags in hand. Arthur opens the door for him. "Mind the cat," he warns, scanning the room for Iggy. _Bloody hell, he still dresses this way on the weekends?_ he thinks, noting Lance's tan trousers, light blue collared shirt and leather shoes.

"What cat?" Lance asks.

"He may turn up. But be alert. He may ambush you," Arthur warns.

"He will do no such thing," Gwen confidently says, taking the bags from Lance and setting them on the coffee table. "I spoke to him this morning and he will be a good boy."

"You spoke… to…" Arthur starts, then gives up. "I don't know why I continue to be surprised."

"Cat listens to her and not you, I'm guessing?" Lance says, looking around the flat, distracted by the walls, his eyes briefly lingering on each image, amazed at how they are unrelated images and yet they flow into each other, somehow seeming to make sense.

"Fucking cat never purred once until she turned up. Now he's a fucking motorboat."

Lance laughs. "So we're lunching picnic-style, then?" he asks, indicating the table.

"Sorry, no room for a proper table," Arthur apologizes. "Ale?" he offers.

"Just some water, thanks," Lance says.

"Water it is," Arthur says, strolling to the kitchen.

"You wouldn't happen to have any lemon, would you?" Lance calls.

"No," Arthur calls back.

 _And now he has another piece of "evidence" for his argument,_ Gwen thinks.

"Oh, never mind, the fish shop gave us some for the fish. Excellent," Lance says.

Arthur brings him a glass and Lance squeezes the lemon over it before dropping it in. Then, to Gwen's hidden horror, he produces a salad from one of the bags. But it is a small one, a side dish. He has another for Gwen, even.

"Didn't peg you as a salad eater, mate," he says to Arthur.

"Good call," Arthur answers. Lance digs in to his fish, and Arthur looks at Gwen. _Do you owe me a pint or do I owe you one now? I'm confused._

Gwen chuckles and takes a bite of her salad. They sit around the table and eat, chatting idly.

"This is very Moroccan," Lance says. "Sitting around a low table like this. We should be eating with our hands or something. Wait, we kind of are…"

"All we need are some belly dancers," Arthur laughs. "Guinevere, you up for it?"

"Left my finger cymbals in my other pair of harem pants, sorry," she says, picking off a bit of fish and holding it out for Iggy, who turned up as soon as the fish was brought out. Iggy gently takes the fish from her fingers and eats it happily.

"And that's why he likes her better," Lance guesses.

"No, he liked her better the instant she stepped through that door," Arthur says, nodding at the door.

"Because I don't refer to him as 'Bastard' or 'Fucking Cat,'" Gwen supplies. "Isn't that right, baby?" she says to Iggy, rubbing him once behind his ears. He meows questioningly, looking up at her.

"No, no more fish. You'll get a sick tummy," she says. He looks at her for a moment, then bounds away to his window.

"And _that's_ what I don't understand," Arthur says. "It's like he understands everything she says."

"He does," Gwen simply says, reaching for another chip. She is about to eat it, then she realizes she is full. She feeds it to Arthur, saying, "I don't know why I took this; I'm full."

Arthur happily takes it, quickly kissing her fingers immediately afterward. "Happy to be of service, my love," he says, chewing.

Gwen glances at Lance. _Does it bother him that we're so demonstrative?_ she wonders. _Doesn't seem to. There's nothing between us any more, I am sure of that. At least on my part. And if he is gay… Damn you, Arthur, for planting that thought!_

She stands and clears her place, throwing the waste in the bin, letting the two men finish. While they eat, she sets out the paintings, and, on a whim, the stacks of drawings he did last week, thinking that Lance might have an idea about them.

"All, right, that's it for me," Lance says. "I haven't eaten food like this in a while. I may end up regretting it later," he laughs.

"Good thing you had the salad, then," Arthur says, smirking. Gwen considers throwing a pencil at his head.

They stand and clear the rest of the table, and Lance goes to refill his glass from the tap. He strolls back out. "All right, let's get to business, here."

He surveys the paintings, looking at each one in turn, saying nothing. Once he's seen them all, he looks up. "These are fucking brilliant, Arthur."

"Thank you."

"We need about fifteen for the show. Or we can use all of these; I'll find wall space if I have to. Build some, even. Well, maybe not the kitten."

"You don't like baby Iggy?" Arthur asks, laughing.

"He's adorable. But he doesn't _match,_ if you get my meaning."

"I know. I didn't expect that one to be included; it was a just a lark anyway. And I don't want these two in, either," he says, pointing to the ones of his pregnant mother and his crying father. "They're a little too personal."

"That's too bad, they are very moving. Especially that one," he points to the painting of Uther.

"And that one," Arthur points to the painting of Guinevere's back, "we can show, but it is not for sale."

"Drag, are you sure? That is probably the best one. We could fetch a pretty penny for it."

"Mine. I am not parting with that one."

"Says the petulant five-year-old," Gwen laughs. Really she is touched that he wants to keep it.

"There's this one, too, that just needs a couple more touches before it's done," Arthur indicates the one on the easel, the other one of Gwen.

"Now this is lovely as well," Lance declares.

"He painted that one from memory," Gwen tells him.

"Really?" Lance is impressed.

"Yes, he has an amazingly visual memory. I've been here while he worked on it, but I never actually _sat_ for that one. I did for the other, but not this one."

Lance studies it, noting Gwen's pensive face in it, her downcast eyes, her soft expression. "Amazing. Every detail. How long did it take you to get her _exact_ shade of brown?"

"Not long at all, actually," Arthur says. "It's imprinted on the backs of my eyelids."

 _Wow,_ Gwen thinks, her heart fluttering slightly.

"I guess I can part with this one, if you insist," Arthur sighs.

"Bet my father buys it," Gwen mutters darkly.

"Guinevere…" Arthur says reproachfully. "She doesn't see how beautiful she is," Arthur tells Lance.

"I know," Lance answers, and Arthur realizes he just told Lance something he already know.

Arthur chuckles, then, "Of course you would already know that."

"Boys, if you're done embarrassing me, perhaps we could move on?"

"What else do you have?" Lance asks.

"Nothing, really," Arthur says.

"Liar," Gwen pulls Lance to the kitchen, where she has his sketchbooks and the stacks of drawings he did of her.

"These are just pencil drawings," Arthur says, opening one of his jars and pulling out a bunch of red licorice, which he munches while Lance looks.

"These are amazing," Lance says, flipping through the sketchbook. "Merlin… Gwaine…" he pauses. "That guy is unreal," he comments, laughing.

"Tell me about it," Gwen says.

"I made the mistake of thinking I could out-drink him last night," he says.

"Oh, no," Arthur says, laughing.

"Hey, he challenged me."

"And?"

"We both ended up under a table, singing."

"Singing?"

"I'm sorry we left early," Gwen says, laughing.

"Yes, well, he had to teach me 'The Wild Rover,' and so then I had to teach him 'Au claire de la lune,' and from there it devolved into dirty limericks."

"Oh, my God," Gwen leans her head on the kitchen counter, laughing.

"How long were you under there before Ox pulled you out?"

"I don't even know. Merlin and Leon were quite amused and entertained, so it was quite a while, probably," he shrugs, turning back to the sketchpad.

"Wow, nice one of Phil. And Leon… Ox..."

"You have a good memory for names," Arthur says, impressed that he remembered them all.

"I was at the pub for a while last night, you know. Who's this?"

"Merlin's mum."

"This one should go out. She's fascinating."

"Even more so in person," Arthur agrees. "But I don't know if she'd be flattered or horrified to have a drawing of herself up in an art gallery."

"Only one way to find out, then, hey?" Lance says, smirking. "I like this doll head one, too."

"Yeah, kind of unsettling, isn't it?" Arthur says, tilting his head slightly as he looks at it.

"Positively creepy. I love it."

They find a few more drawings to include, then Gwen leads him to the stacks.

"Guinevere…" Arthur protests, his hand over _that_ stack.

"Hey, you drew them, tough guy."

"Well, I never thought they'd be _seen_ by anyone other than you and I."

Lance is already busy flipping through the other drawings, pulling some aside, re-sorting the stacks.

"Don't make me remind you that Lance has already _seen…_ " Gwen starts, and Arthur makes a face.

"Seen what?" Lance asks.

"Me," Gwen says, blushing despite herself.

"So these are nudes, then?" Lance guesses, completely nonplussed.

"Yeah. I drew all these in the four days we were broken up. Well, three actually, because I kind of lost Monday," Arthur explains.

" _All_ these? In three days? From memory? Good Lord, man, I need to sit down."

"And now he doesn't want you to see this stack."

"I was wondering why they were face-down," he says, reaching for them.

"But…" Arthur stammers.

"Already seen it, mate, no longer interested," Lance says casually, flipping the stack over.

Arthur stands, dumbfounded and staring for a moment. Then he slowly looks at Gwen and raises an eyebrow, a triumphant devilish smile slowly spreading across his face.

She glares back. _You don't know that's what he meant._

"Drag, these are beautiful. Sometimes nudes can be kind of… porn-y, but these are very tasteful." He looks up at him. "You really missed her."

"I did," Arthur says, having the good sense to look contrite.

"I have an idea," Lance says, pulling aside a few of the nude drawings and adding them to the other stack. He flips through them, guessing about thirty or forty. "Come on," he says, picking up the stack and heading back to the living room.

He hands the stack to Gwen, and reaches down to the coffee table. "Help me move this," he says. Arthur takes the other end, and they clear a large space in the middle of the small living room, pushing the furniture back as well. Lance takes the stack back and starts laying the drawings out in a grid on the floor. He steps back, and the three of them stare down at a large collage of his drawings, all of Guinevere in whole or in part, a five-by-six grid of 30 pieces of paper.

"We matte and mount this and put it in a huge frame," Lance says, holding his arms out wide. "It would be a beautiful feature piece in the gallery, right in the center on the moveable wall."

"Wow, that's… that's bloody brilliant, Lance," Arthur says, looking down at them. "Although…" He bends down and rearranges some of the drawings. "Better."

"No," Gwen says, bending down and retrieving one of her, her entire body on display. "I get final veto power." She reaches over and chooses another one from the remainder of the stack in Lance's hands and puts it in the empty slot.

"Fair enough, since you are the subject," Lance laughs.

"Thank you."

"What about that one?" Arthur points to one where her bum is showing.

"Um… I guess that one's okay," she allows. "Just no full frontals."

"And what about the rest?" Arthur asks Lance.

"We keep them for later. Our Gwen is going to be a popular girl, I think," he grins.

"Wait," Arthur reaches for the stack Lance is still holding, flips through it and finds one that suits his needs. He bends over, picks one up, an extreme close-up of a segment of her face, her eyes half-lidded, her lips full and shiny, and replaces it.

"This one deserves to stand on its own," Arthur says, holding it up for Lance to see.

"Agreed," Lance nods.

Gwen blushes again.


	35. Chapter 35

"Arthur, I'm not so sure this is a good idea anymore," Gwen says as he pulls her car into the driveway of a large stone estate, parking the small car in a corner under a tree, hidden from view.

"You're not chickening out on me now, are you?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

She opens the car door and stubbornly stomps out while he reaches into the back seat to retrieve a bag that he's brought. A bag of which he wouldn't let her see the contents.

"Come on," he takes her hand and guides her to a large garden gate.

"Um…" she starts, seeing the keypad lock on the gate.

He calmly punches a series of numbers, the little light on the console turns green, and there is a _click._ He pushes the gate open.

"Where are we?" she asks, but somehow she knows the answer.

"My father's house. He's out of town."

"How far out of town?" she asks.

"Berlin. Till Monday."

"So we're, what? Breaking in?"

"Not breaking. I have the code," he says reasonably.

"Right," she answers, following him along a path lined with beautifully groomed flowers and shrubs that she wishes she could fully appreciate. There isn't even much of a moon tonight, so she can't see much of anything.

"Here we are," he says, pulling her to the corner of a stone patio, where a hot tub sits.

"We're breaking in to use his hot tub?"

He grins and peels his shirt off.

"I don't have a swimsuit along," she says, and he just _looks_ at her.

"Oh," she laughs. "Silly me."

They undress, Arthur eagerly helping with Guinevere's clothes as she swats his hands away. Arthur reaches into the bag and pulls out 2 towels, setting them within reach. He walks to the wall and turns a dial, firing up the jets before taking her hand again and climbing into the tub.

"Oh, that's nice," Gwen says, letting the warm water surround her. The night is cool, so the heat is welcome against her skin.

He snuggles her against him. "At least now I know why you inexplicably told me to put my hair up after begging me to leave it down this morning," she says, looking up at him. He leans down and kisses her, bringing his wet hand up to cup her cheek as she opens her mouth beneath his, welcoming his tongue with hers. His hand slides down to her breast, holding it, rubbing the nipple gently.

"Arthur," she says when he moves to her neck, "we are not having sex in your father's hot tub."

"Oh?" he asks, using that arrogant tone of his, the one he uses when he's certain he's going to get his way.

"No," she says, lifting his face to hers again. "I don't want to leave… evidence."

He laughs now. "Evidence?"

"You know what I mean," she says. "But," she leans up and bites his earlobe, "I'll make it up to you when we get home."

"Oh, you'd better," he growls, kissing her again anyway.

"Behave, now," Gwen gently scolds, sitting back.

"So, then, if we're not going to properly defile my father's hot tub, what shall we do?" Arthur asks, still kissing her neck.

"Play water polo, what do you think?" she answers, and he chuckles against her wet skin. "We just enjoy each others' company," she says.

"That's what I was trying to do."

"And _talk._ " She takes his face in her hands and looks at him, then kisses his lips sweetly. "Not that I don't like the attention, obviously."

He kisses her once more than, and settles her back in beside him. "Okay," he says, his voice exaggeratedly sullen.

She just laughs at him, and surveys what she sees of her surroundings. "So, is this where you grew up?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, rough surroundings," she teases.

"I know, spoiled rotten. But don't be fooled by the pretty wrapping."

"Of course not. I know you didn't exactly have the happiest of childhoods."

"It wasn't all bad. Morgana and I had a lot of fun playing together. Lots of room to run and kick a football. She was actually really good at heading the ball. Like a trained seal, she was," he laughs. "We used to play hide and seek out here quite often in the summer, when everything was grown in and green. One time I hid so well she had to get Joseph to come out and help find me."

"Joseph?"

"Butler. Still works here, I'm sure."

"Did they find you?"

"Yes, but I had fallen asleep by that time," he laughs.

"Oh no!"

"Well, it turns out I had caught flu and was already overly tired anyway, so I actually wasn't missing out here for _that_ long."

"That's… something, I suppose."

"Father wasn't happy at all. Because somehow it was my fault that I didn't know that I was ill and went to play outside, of course," he frowns. "I was an 8-year-old boy; all I wanted to do was play outside, for heaven's sake."

"He always expected much from you, didn't he?"

"Too much," he sighs, idly toying with a few curls that have come loose at her neck. "I like to think that my mother would have supported me, would have convinced him to let me do what I wanted."

"I think that you are probably more like your father than you'd like to admit," she says carefully.

He drops the curl he is playing with and looks curiously down at her. "Explain."

"Don't get cross, I simply mean that, from what I've heard about your father – which is all from you, mind, it seems that you have a lot of similar traits," she says, twining her fingers with his beneath the water.

"Such as?"

"You are both stubborn and arrogant. And particular; you like things the way you like them. And you definitely don't like anyone telling you what to do." She looks up at him, and he is scowling now. "I don't mean to upset you, these aren't terrible things. Well, except the stubbornness at times, perhaps."

He stays silent, pondering her words.

"I know, no one likes hearing that they are similar to someone with whom they do not get along, Love." She reaches up and strokes his cheek, and he turns his head and kisses her palm.

"However, you do have many traits that, from what I understand, you surely got from your mother."

"Like what?" he asks, brightening now.

"Well, you're sweet," she turns and kisses him, "and cute," she kisses him again, even though he makes a face at the word "cute."

"And I'm willing to bet she was creative in some way," Gwen continues, moving to his neck now.

"From what I understand, she could sing really well," he says softly.

"See, I was right," she grins at him once before kissing the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. "You like children and they like you," she says, running her tongue along his collarbone.

He groans a little bit at the sensation and his hand rises to her breast again.

"And you are fair and kind and have a strong sense of what is right and what is wrong," she finishes, kissing his lips again, sweeping her tongue inside his mouth once before pulling away and snuggling up next to him again.

"You are an evil tease," he says, giving the breast in his hand a squeeze.

"Oh, now, if I was an evil tease, I would do _this,_ " she says, scooting away, down the bench.

"Where are you going?" he pouts. "Oh…" he grunts now as he feels her slender foot push gently into his groin, toes curling against him, sole sliding along his now-growing length.

"Guinevere…" he groans, "you are playing with fire, there, little one." But he takes her foot in his hand anyway, guiding it where he wants it to go.

He leans his head back, letting her foot slide on him a few more times before shakily removing it from his manhood and lifting it to his lips.

She laughs, knowing he stopped her because he _had_ to. She also knows that she's going to pay the price for her shenanigans once they are home.

Arthur kisses her foot and Gwen slides around so she is sitting opposite him in the small tub, her leg just long enough to cross the distance. She reclines back, resting her head against the ledge, closing her eyes.

 _I'm actually beginning to really enjoy his attention to my feet,_ she realizes as she feels his tongue slide between her toes, his teeth nibbling lightly at the tender pads on the bottoms of her feet.

She sighs and Arthur opens his eyes, watching her across the way, reclined against the edge of the tub, completely content and completely relaxed.

_And completely beautiful._

He presses a kiss to her arch, his tongue slipping out to touch her skin. She slowly opens her eyes at looks at him, a sleepy, desire-filled look that makes his blood run hot through his veins.

"Oh, God, let's just go home," he says, dropping her foot.

xXx

They tumble into Gwen's flat, giggling and kissing, their clothes slightly damp, Arthur's shirt inside-out.

"We are never doing that…" she pauses while he kisses her, "again," she says.

"But it was fun," he counters, his face in her neck as he reaches back with his hand to drop her keys on the table. They fall to the floor instead, but Arthur and Gwen take no heed, kissing and groping and stumbling back to the bedroom.

Gwen has Arthur's shirt off halfway down the hallway, and Arthur has Gwen's jeans opened. They fall onto the bed and he pulls them the rest of the way off. She sits up and whips her shirt off over her head now, carelessly tossing it aside.

"Whoa, there, Sweet, where do you think we are, my flat?" Arthur laughs at her, eyes roving over her bare breasts, her bra having been stuffed in the bag with their towels instead of put back on.

Gwen laughs and beckons him closer, opening the fly of his jeans now, sliding her hands inside, pressing her palms against his skin.

He groans and yanks the damp garment off before peeling her knickers down. They curl up on themselves as he pulls them down, damp both from the residual moisture from the hot tub and Gwen's own hot moisture that has been accumulating.

Arthur climbs over her and kisses his way up, starting at her stomach.

"That was the… longest… drive home… _ever,_ " he groans against her skin.

Gwen laughs again until Arthur's lips silence her, kissing her hungrily. He pulls away and looks down at her, his face suddenly serious.

"What is it, Arthur?"

There is a small glimmer in his eye that is betraying his serious expression. "I just remembered. You said you would make it up to me when we got back." A slow smile creeps across his face as he gets an idea.

"Oh," she says, wondering what his deliciously depraved mind has come up with now.

"You also owe me for your behavior with that naughty little foot of yours," he rumbles, and Gwen suddenly feels even warmer.

"I figured as much," she whispers, leaning her head up to kiss him.

Arthur kisses across her jaw and over to her ear, which he nibbles a minute before whispering, "I want to watch you."

"Watch me what?" she asks. His hands are being quite distracting, indeed.

"I want to watch you touch yourself," he purrs, sliding off of her now.

 _Oh._ She blinks a few times, propping herself up on her elbows. _He wants to what?_

"Really?" she asks, as that is all she can think to say.

"Yes, really." He even goes so far as to pull over a chair, sitting in it to watch.

"Um…"

"If you're really uncomfortable with it…" he starts, thinking that he may have gone too far.

"No… no, I don't think so, anyway," she says, biting her lower lip. "I just want to make sure that the little camera in your brain is turned _off._ "

He laughs suddenly, understanding now. "I promise I will neither draw nor paint you in this state."

She slides back down onto the pillows. _This is a little weird. It's not like I've never done this before, but I'm not sure how to start._

"Would you like me to help you begin?" he quietly asks.

"Yes."

Arthur rejoins her on the bed, next to her this time. He takes her right hand in his, guiding it first to her breast, pressing her fingers with his, coaxing her out. He leans over and kisses her, sliding her hand down, gliding it across her stomach to her thigh, having her stroke her inner thigh before he moves her hand over herself, where he lets go.

He kisses her one more time, then takes her left hand and places it on her other breast, so that she has one hand below and one above.

Gwen's fingers instinctively curl into the hot moisture of her womanhood and she sighs a small sigh, her left hand squeezing her breast of its own accord now.

She parts her legs wider, allowing her fingers to push further, sliding the middle one up inside herself.

She takes her nipple between her thumb and the side of her forefinger and squeezes it, arching slightly.

She barely realizes that Arthur has returned to his chair, watching her with lust-filled eyes.

Gwen slides her finger out and runs it up and down her cleft a few times, slowly, savoring the sensation; she rolls her nipple between the fingers of her other hand.

"Oh…" she sighs, and his hand drifts between his own legs, unable to stop from touching himself along with her.

Two fingers now, circling and stroking, thrusting inside, then back out, circling and stroking.

Her breathing goes shallow; her hand grips her breast, her palm rubbing the stiff nipple.

Arthur watches, mesmerized, as her fingers dip and swirl, her knees falling wide, and as his own hand closes around himself, he realizes that perhaps this wasn't as good an idea as he thought.

He doesn't know where to look. He wants to see everything: her face, her body, her fingers as they pleasure her. His fingers close around his shaft when her breathing starts becoming heavy, small gasps escaping her lips.

"Arthur…" she plaintively mewls his name, arching her back again.

Arthur's hand tightens on himself, moving now, slowly. _Easy. Pace yourself. Just watch._

Gwen's left hand pulls at her nipple now, her right moving faster, circling tighter. Her head tosses to the side and her mouth falls open as she gasps.

"Oh… yes… _Arthur…_ " she moans. _So close._

Unable to take any more, he dives over her and into her in one fluid motion, growling.

"Yes!" she gasps as she feels the thickness of his manhood enter, plunging deep, finding its home. She grabs his shoulders, pulling him to her, and he immediately latches onto her breast, suckling fiercely, pulling the hard nipple into his mouth, nibbling it with his teeth.

He thrusts, swift and hard, and she was so close that she is already crashing down around him, digging her nails in and very nearly screaming with her release as it washes over her like a flood.

The sting of her fingernails and the screaming of his name pushes him to the edge and he plummets, pushing as deep as he can, releasing into her with another massive growl as his lips leave her breast and his head falls to the side on her chest, breathing heavily.

"Shit," he gasps after a moment, bringing a wave of giggles from Gwen.

He rolls to the side, gathering her in his arms now, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, eyelids, nose, and finally her lips. "You are so beautiful. You were unbelievable, my love."

She blushes and ducks her head into his shoulder. "I'm glad you chose to join me," she admits.

"So am I. As much as I enjoyed watching, participating is _much_ better."

She laughs again, kissing his chest. "I do love you so much," she says, reaching behind her to try and pull the covers back so that they can worm their way under.

They wiggle and shift and get the blankets down, tucking themselves in.

"I love you more," he says, squeezing her.

"Probably," she says, teasing him now.

"What?"

She grins up at him and he can't help but kiss her again.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he says after a time. The light is now out and they are snuggled together in a sleepy embrace, in a cozy little world where only the two of them exist.

"What for?" she asks, her soft voice edged with sleep.

"Only everything. The show. Merlin's book. Forgiving me. Loving me."

xXx

"So Drag, what name are you going to be using?" Gwaine asks, looking up from the third piece of paper he's drawn all over that day, working out ideas for Arthur's flyers and poster.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asks.

"Do you want it to say 'Arthur Pendragon' or just 'Drag' or 'Gwaine Patrick' or what?"

"Nice try," Arthur says, laughing. "What do you think?" he walks over. "I don't want to look like a pretentious twat by using only one name, but I really don't want to be tied to my father, you know?"

"Don't want people thinking you're getting a show because you're some spoiled rich prat, right?"

"Right. Especially because I'm not."

"Well, you're neither spoiled nor rich…" Phil comments, shoving the end of a pen down into her cast, rubbing furiously.

"Phil, stop scratching," Gwaine scolds, not looking up. "You know what the doctor said."

"Piss off," she says, but withdraws the pen anyway. She contemplates the implement a moment, then throws it at Gwaine, and it hits him in the center of his back.

Arthur laughs and picks it up. "What do you think, Phil?" he asks, bringing her pen back to her.

"Go with Drag. People will meet you at the show and discover for themselves that you're not a pretentious twat."

"Wow, was that a compliment?" Arthur asks, grinning at her.

"No," she says, turning away.

Arthur walks over to her and, knowing she can't escape, wraps his arms around her from behind in a massive hug. She squirms and he kisses her cheek, just to further aggravate her.

"Get off me, you shit!" she complains, but she is actually trying very hard not to laugh.

Arthur lets go, laughing, and walks back over to Gwaine. He looks at the three possible poster ideas.

"I like this one," he says pointing to the first. Gwaine already had the name "Drag" written on it anyway, he notices. "But…" he snatches Gwaine's pen from him and starts drawing on the draft.

"Hey! _My_ flyer!" Gwaine exclaims territorially.

" _My_ show. The flyer should have something of mine on it," Arthur says, and Gwaine really cannot argue that point. He sighs, calls Arthur a twat under his breath, and watches as Arthur draws one of his amazing dragons across the sheet, winding it around, somehow drawing it behind the lettering, making it look like the dragon was there first and the rest put on top.

"Shit. That is better," Gwaine admits.

"Of course it is," Arthur says, tossing his pen back.

"Yeah, fuck you."

xXx

The next few weeks are a flurry of activity. Arthur is now splitting his time between Excalibur and the gallery, approving frame choices and overall layout, arguing with Lance about hors d'oeuvres and décor. Lance prefers fancy canapés and champagne, Arthur wants plain pub fare and ale. The caterer winds up in tears when Arthur wins, using the simple argument, "This is meant to show my art and who I am. I am not bloody cucumber sandwiches and smoked salmon. I am fish and chips and whatever the hell it was that Leon made that day. Chili dogs. And Twiglets. And candy. Lots of candy." Seeing the caterer's face crumble slightly, he apologizes. "Sorry. It's just that I grew up surrounded by that posh nonsense, and I really do not wish to have any part of it now."

Guinevere finally finished the first draft of Marcus Ryan's book, able to concentrate properly again, and has moved on to the second draft of Merlin's book and yet another project that Gaius has given her.

Gwen also starts to notice that more and more of Arthur's things are making their way into her flat. A toothbrush, a razor and some shave cream, a pair of the athletic shorts he likes to lounge around in. A big jar of candy. More bottles of lager in the fridge than usual. She pretends not to notice, enjoying letting him think he's being sly.

One day she comes home with a length of deep crimson fabric she's bought for a dress she wants to make for the opening. She finds two of Arthur's pencils, his _special_ drawing pencils, with a small sketchpad on the table where she keeps her sewing machine.

 _Damn, Arthur, if you want to move in with me, just ask,_ she thinks, exasperated and flattered at the same time. _But if the cat box shows up, I will say something._

She grins every time she sees a flyer or a poster in a new place. She shamelessly hands them out to everyone she knows in her office, and posts one on a bulletin board. She is overjoyed when Mr. Gaius says he's not only coming to the opening but also that Gwen is to take that day off so she can be available to Arthur for the show.

xXx

Morgana opens the envelope that just arrived in the day's post, an unfamiliar return address in the corner.

_It's the flyer!_

Her eyes scan the page and she immediately knows it to be Gwaine's handiwork. _But that dragon is definitely Arthur's._

She looks at her diary for the fiftieth time since he told her the date of the show, hoping again, fruitlessly, that her trip to Rome was the following week. It isn't. _He told me to go._

She stares at the flyer, smiling warmly at it, at her brother's big moment. Then she reaches down into her desk for a blank envelope, addresses it and puts the flyer inside, sealing it with a satisfied grin.

Then she reaches for her phone to ring the travel agent to see about changing her return flight so that she arrives at Heathrow instead of Glasgow.

xXx

Thursday night before the show, Gwen is putting the finishing touches on her red dress, and Arthur is bouncing off the walls.

"Love, there is new ice cream in the freezer," Gwen calmly tells him, and he sharply looks up, then heads to the kitchen.

"Mint chip," she hears him mutter from the kitchen. She also hears him dig into the jar of Skittles, his latest obsession, that he's brought over.

"Skittles and mint chip ice cream," she says to herself, shuddering at the combination.

"I heard that," he says, "and I'm not putting them _on_ the ice cream. That would be weird."

"Right," she says, lifting the dress now, completed.

"Skittles would go on rainbow sherbet, though," he comments idly, walking back in with two bowls, one with ice cream, the other with candy.

"What do you think?" she asks showing him the dress.

"Model it for me?"

"Sure," she heads to the bedroom to change.

"You could change out here," he calls.

"Yes, but then you'd want me to strip for you, and then the dress would be forgotten," she shouts back.

"Hmm," he ponders that thought a minute. "Wear those shoes!" he calls back.

"That was the whole point of buying this color fabric."

Arthur waits, finishing his ice cream and setting the bowl aside before digging into the Skittles. "Ugh," he says, "she's right," and goes to get a long drink of water before returning to his candy.

He sits, still waiting. "What's taking so long?" he whines.

"You want the shoes, then you must wait for the shoes."

Arthur leans back on the couch, running his hand over his head. _Needs a shave._ "Sweet, can we do my hair later? I want it to be good for tomorrow," he yells.

"You don't need to yell," she calmly says, and he jumps and turns so quickly that he almost spills his candy.

"Dear God in heaven," he says. "You can't wear that to the show, you'll take all the attention away from my art."

The dress is a sleeveless wrap dress, accentuating her curves in all the right places. It has a deep vee in the front and falls just to her knees.

"So you like it then," she says.

"Turn around."

She starts to spin for him.

"Slowly," he corrects. She laughs and turns slowly.

"Nope. Can't wear it," he declares.

"You're not the boss of me," she says over her shoulder, laughing, keeping her back to him, her hands saucily on her hips.

He walks closer, inspecting her now, turning her to face him again. "You don't even have a bra on," he observes, peeking in.

"Of course not," she slaps his hand away and kisses him. "It would show."

"You look beautiful, Love," he says softly, kissing her now.

"Thank you. Now if you would be good enough to release me, I'll go change and then we'll go shave your head."

"You have to change?"

"Arthur…"

"I know, you don't want to wreck it," he says, kissing her one more time before dropping his hands from her waist.

Arthur waits in the bathroom. He finds some nail clippers and idly trims his fingernails while he waits.

"You could have at least gotten your head ready," Gwen says, walking in wearing her nightie, the purple one.

"I like it when you do it. Besides, I just noticed how long my fingernails were."

"Yes, we must have you properly groomed for tomorrow," she smiles.

He peers down at his toes, to see if they need attention as well.

"I don't think anyone will be seeing them," she says.

"I know, but I've got the clippers in my hand."

"Later. We're doing your hair now." She grabs the can of foam and plants herself in his lap.


	36. Chapter 36

The afternoon of the show, Arthur is pounding lemon drops like they are going out of style. He barely slept the previous night, even after seeking the comfort of Gwen's embrace to calm his nerves. Three times. As a result, Gwen slept till nearly nine, but Arthur was still up with the sun, drawing just to pass the time.

They arrive at the gallery at four. The opening is at seven, but they are anxious and want to make sure everything is perfect.

"Look, people are already peeking in the windows," Gwen says when they approach.

"Guinevere, they're just walking past, of course they're going to look in the windows," he argues, but she can see the boyish grin lurking just below the surface.

She pulls the handle to find the door locked. "He's in there, the lights are on," she says, so Arthur pounds on the door.

A minute later, Lance comes jogging out and opens the door for them. He hugs Gwen and slaps Arthur companionably on the shoulder.

"Wow, this looks amazing, Lance," Gwen says, looking around while Lance locks the door again.

The paintings are all hung, the massive collage of drawings are hung on a movable wall in the center of the room. "Wow," is all she can say. They've been matted in white, a five-by-six grid. "It's so understated and classy, but…"

"But it still demands attention," Lance finishes proudly. "Drag, tonight is going to be phenomenal for both of us, mate."

"Hmm?" Arthur asks from the other end of the room. He's found the huge glass bowls filled with various kinds of candy and is busy sampling.

"Arthur, leave the candy alone," Gwen says, turning. "Lance, is there someplace I can put these?" She holds up a garment bag containing her dress and Arthur's clothes for the evening.

"Yeah, over there," he points to a door leading to his office and a restroom.

Two and a half hours later, the last painting has been straightened for the last time, and the exasperated caterer has just left.

"Arthur, really," Gwen says when she sees the fare: Miniature versions of pub food. Tiny, bite-sized nuggets of fried fish with chips that are smaller than normal. Even tiny, bite-sized meat pies and, yes, Twiglets and bowls of nuts.

"Dear God, you even got little chili dogs," she laughs.

"I think she was going to have my head for that one," Arthur guiltily says.

There is a tap at the door, and Lance opens it for Leon and Merlin bringing a portable tap for the lager.

"Oh, that is it," Gwen throws up her hands. "Ale instead of champagne. This will certainly be memorable, if only for the food."

"What?" Arthur innocently asks.

"I'm going to change," she declares, striding to the back.

"I better go, too," Arthur says, following.

"Behave back there," Lance calls. "I will chaperone if I have to," he threatens.

Arthur just waves his hand dismissively, but the thought isn't entirely… _No. She'd never let me anyway._

Still, watching her change into that dress, he gives it a go anyway, reaching around from behind, cupping a breast in his hand, stroking the nipple as he kisses her neck.

"No," she says, but her head is falling to the side despite her protests. She reaches up and caresses his cheek, heat pooling between her thighs. She is just about to give in when reason takes over again.

"Arthur," she says, removing his hand and turning now. "We can't, Love."

"Worth a try," he grins, dropping his head to kiss her lips one last time before they are glossed.

She thrusts a hanger at him. "Get dressed."

xXx

Freya arrives next with Phil, and they join Merlin and Leon, who have simply stayed. Phil is wearing the black witch skirt that Gwen gave her with a tight black v-neck tee, Freya a simple peasant skirt and blouse.

"Well, you two are quite the pair," Merlin laughs when he sees them. "Day and night."

"We noticed that," Freya says, leaning up to kiss Merlin.

Leon jogs out, having just finished hooking up the tap. "Phyllis, you look gorgeous, my love," he declares, leaning down to kiss her cheek before leading her to a chair.

"Thank you," she says, smiling. He hovers a moment, unsure, so she says, "Go take care of what you need to do, Lee."

Gwen and Arthur come out of the back, and Freya bounds over to Gwen.

"Darling, that dress is amazing," she gushes, then notices Gwen's necklace. "You wore it!"

"Of course I did," Gwen says, reaching up to the red Murano glass pendant that Freya brought her from Venice, hanging on a delicate gold chain around her neck. "It matches, you know," she grins.

"Hi Freya, thanks for coming," Arthur leans over and kisses her cheek.

"Would not miss it," she says. "Look at you, all dashing," she comments, sizing him up in his charcoal trousers and white button-down shirt, left open at the neck.

"White suits you, actually," Lance comments, joining them. "And Gwennie, that dress is fabulous."

Arthur arches an eyebrow over at Gwen again that clearly says _gay_ as Lance turns and smiles uncomfortably at Freya. "Hello, Freya."

"Lance," she says. "This is actually really great of you. I'm… impressed."

"Does that mean you forgive me?" he asks.

"Well, let me see… you're giving Arthur his own gallery opening, which makes him happy, and that makes Gwen happy. So, yeah, I guess I can let you live."

"Good," he says, actually looking relieved.

Gwen laughs, then points at the clock. 6:58. "Um, Lance?"

"Right. Holy hell, there are people outside already!" He purposefully strides to the door, pausing just a moment to greet the stationary Phil.

He opens the door and Gwaine is the first one in, a petite blonde on his arm. "Hey, Phil," he says.

"Who the hell is that?" she asks.

"Phil, this is Emma. Emma, my sister, Phyllis."

Emma waves.

"How old are you, sixteen?" Phil asks.

"Nineteen," she says defensively. Phil rolls her eyes in disgust. _You can do better, Brother._

"Drag!" Gwaine exclaims hugging him tightly.

"Hey, Gwaine. Girl of the Day," Arthur greets them.

"Emma," she says.

"Okay," he says noncommittally as Gwen walks up.

"Sparrow, you look delicious," Gwaine leers at her.

"I _told_ you that you shouldn't wear that dress," Arthur says while she laughs and Emma glowers.

"Thank you, Gwaine," she says, looping her arm through Arthur's. "Hi, I'm Gwen," she introduces herself to Gwaine's date.

"Emma," she smiles, happy to finally meet someone nice.

"Have a look around, get a bite to eat," Gwen says, "I need to mingle, and so do you," she looks pointedly at Arthur.

"Yes, ma'am," he salutes her, grinning as she walks away.

xXx

They see many familiar faces, and, better still, many unfamiliar ones. Gwen's heart leaps to her throat every time she sees Lance put a red sticker on the placard next to a piece and walk back to the desk with a customer. She catches Arthur's eye when the first one goes back, someone they don't know, an older woman who purchases the lake painting.

"Daddy!" Gwen declares when her father walks in with Ox, clearly straight from the Yard.

"Hello, Princess," Tom greets his daughter, hugging her.

"And Ox, my darling, how are you?" she asks as he picks her up in a hug.

"Great," he says, smiling down at her. He spots Arthur and heads over.

"Gwen, you look beautiful," her father says, studying her. "In fact, you are positively _glowing._ "

"Um, thanks," she says.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" he asks suddenly, just as Arthur happens to be walking over to greet him. The question stops him in his tracks.

"What?" Gwen asks. "No! Dad!"

"Sorry, just have to ask," he shrugs. "Pendragon," he greets Arthur, who found his feet again.

"Mr. Degrance, thanks for coming," he shakes hands with the man.

"Wouldn't miss it, wouldn't miss it," he says. Then he leans over and quietly says, "Well done, Arthur."

"Th-thank you, sir," Arthur says. He looks at Gwen, who is simply beaming. _Did I just get approval?_

"Arthur?" Lance calls to him.

"Oh, sorry, I…"

"Go," Tom says. "Gwen can show me around."

Gwen takes her father's arm and they make a circuit of the room. He is intrigued by the painting of the homeless Jeff, its gritty quality appealing to the lawman in him. As predicted, he loves the pensive Guinevere painting. He frowns over Arthur's favorite one, on display but not for sale as agreed, declaring it "uncomfortable" for him to look at, but allowing that it is a beautiful piece of art.

"And since he's not selling it, I guess I can take heart in the knowledge that your naked back surrounded by sheets after doing God-knows-what won't be hanging someplace… random. Or public."

"Dad, really, you're being ridiculous."

He likes all the drawings, and actually seems rather taken with the one of Merlin's mother. "Who is this?"

"Merlin's mum, Hunith."

"She's lovely."

Gwen looks at her father. "She'll probably turn up sooner or later. Thinks of Arthur as another son, you know."

"Hmm." They go to the next piece. "Who is _this,_ now? She's gorgeous."

"Arthur's twin sister, Morgana."

"She looks nothing like him."

"She looks like their father, he looks like their mother," Gwen explains. "She'd be here, too, but she had to be in Rome and couldn't reschedule."

They reach the collage, which Arthur keeps referring to as G30. "Um, you may not want to look too closely at this one," Gwen says, standing in front of the one where her backside is showing.

He scans it quickly and says, "Okay. I'll take your word."

Gwen looks over and sees that Mr. Gaius has arrived, and he's brought someone along. "Dad, go get some food. My boss just walked in."

"All right," Tom says, kisses her on the cheek, and heads over to the tables.

By the time Gwen reaches Gaius, Merlin has already found him.

"Mr. Gaius, I'm so glad you came!" Gwen says, joining them.

"Guinevere, you know I wouldn't miss it," Gaius says, and leans over to kiss her cheek.

"Well, thank you all the same."

"Gwen, this is Marcus Ryan," Gaius indicates the young man with him. He is short and stocky, with lank brown hair. "Marcus, Guinevere Degrance. Your editor."

"Oh, um, nice to meet you," he stammers, clearly shocked at seeing her face to face.

"Yes," she says, the look on his face not lost on her. "I take it you were expecting me to be bookish and plain? Perhaps even fat?"

"Um, yes, actually. After the way you laid into me on the phone, yes, I was," he admits.

"Well, you were definitely wrong, mate," Merlin laughs.

"Are you the artist?" Marcus asks.

"This is Merlin Emrys. He is a writer as well, Marcus. First book will be published early next year," Gaius introduces them.

Arthur finally makes his way over, popping M&Ms into his mouth. "Mr. Gaius, glad you could make it," he says, shaking the older man's hand.

"Nice to see you, Arthur," Gaius greets him, smiling. Arthur notices the way that the young man with Gaius is appraising Gwen, so he puts his arm around her possessively.

"M&M?" he asks her, then feeds her one. _Got it, twerp?_

"After seeing the paintings Gwen has in her office, I had to come and see what else you had to offer the world," Gaius chuckles. "Oh, this is Marcus Ryan. And I trust you know young Merlin already."

Arthur laughs. "My whole life; can't seem to shake him off," he says. "Marcus, nice to meet you," he politely says, still giving the _hands off_ vibe.

Gwen surreptitiously pinches Arthur. _Okay, so she noticed._

Merlin is chatting with Marcus now, and Gaius turns to Arthur, his face a question. "Perhaps you can clear up some confusion for me, Arthur."

"I'll try," Arthur answers, unsure of where the old man is heading.

"Gwen introduced you to me as Arthur, but everything here says 'Drag.' Which is it?"

"Ah. Drag is just what my mates call me, because I don't especially like the name Arthur."

"Why Drag, if I may ask?"

 _Shit._ "It's from my last name, Pendragon," he says quietly, just loud enough for the old man's ears to pick up.

"Pendragon?" he raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir, my father is your friend Uther Pendragon," Arthur finally admits.

"Well, he's more of a business acquaintance, but I did not realize he had a son. He does not speak much of his personal life, but I do know he has a daughter."

"My sister Morgana. She lived up to his expectations. I did not. So he does not speak of me often, if at all. And that's why I'm not using my full name for this show. I don't want people thinking I bought my way in because of my name."

"I see."

"Especially because I don't have any money anyway," he laughs now.

"Well, I am sorry for your father; he apparently does not know what he is missing," he declares. "Now. I need to go take a look around and see if I can't find something to buy," he winks at Arthur and saunters away, pulling Merlin and Marcus with him.

Arthur finds Gaius a short time later, standing in front of his bowl of fruit painting. He is smirking, his face amused.

"You're the first person who has noticed it," Arthur whispers to the old man.

"Truly? Not even Gwen?"

"I don't think she looked that closely. I tried to teach her to paint one night, and gave her a bowl of fruit as the subject. I think she's bitter," Arthur laughs.

"I have to have this one. I love it. I keep coming back to look at it, and it makes me laugh every time."

"I'll get Lance."

Arthur returns a moment later with Lancelot. "Lance, this is Will Gaius, Guinevere's boss. He wants this painting."

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Lance says. "I'm sorry, am I missing something?" he asks, seeing the amused expressions on both men's faces.

"Lance, look at the painting. Really _look,_ " Arthur says.

Lance stares, his eyes poring over it. Finally, he sees it. One of the grapes has a little happy face on it.

"How on earth did I miss that?" he laughs, reaching into his pocket for his sheet of stickers.

"Sharp eyes, me. Have to have, in my line of work," Gaius says with a wink.

People stream in and out. More and more red stickers appear. Arthur has to end up tacking a sign to the wall that says _Not for sale_ beside the painting of Gwen's back because so many people have inquired after it.

Hunith is completely mortified but very flattered to have her portrait up. She gushes over the painting of "her two boys," actually crying a little. Gwen thinks she is just lovely and tries to convince her father to talk to her, but he refuses, actually hiding behind Ox until he feigns tiredness and leaves, but not before buying the single sketch of Gwen's face, the close-up that Arthur had isolated from the collage.

Freya comes down with a migraine and apologizes profusely to Gwen and Arthur, but insists that Merlin stay and support his friend. She whispers something in his ear that makes him blush before she leaves, but Merlin will not tell, no matter how much Gwaine threatens. Gwaine's date gets bored and leaves, pouting furiously when Gwaine hails her a cab and stays behind. Some of the pub patrons come in, and one even buys the creepy doll's head sketch, declaring it "fucking genius."

xXx

"These are all of you." Gwen turns at the voice behind her.

"I'm sorry?" she asks the woman. She is an older woman, probably in her late fifties, tall and slender, with auburn hair. She is still quite beautiful and is a striking and imposing figure in the center of the gallery.

"These drawings," she gestures to the large collage, "they're all you."

Gwen's cheeks color slightly and she looks down, a bit embarrassed. "Yes, um, they are."

"You are his muse?" she asks, but somehow Gwen doesn't really think it's really a question.

"Well, I don't know about that," she answers, "I'm his girlfriend."

"If you insist, my dear," she says archly.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes with a little chuckle, "I'm Gwen," she says, offering her hand to the woman.

"Annis," she answers, shaking her hand. "So, Gwen: Tell me the story of these sketches."

Gwen exhales heavily. "We had a fight."

"Of course you did."

"He was being… unreasonable, and I threw him out of my flat. For the next four days, this," she gestures to the sketches, "is what he did."

"He drew thirty sketches of you, from memory?"

"Goodness, no. There are much more than thirty," Gwen laughs. "But yes, they are from memory."

"You didn't call him or see him for four days after you tossed him out?" she asks, smiling slightly.

"Nope. I told him that when he was prepared to be an adult he could call me and I'd think about speaking with him."

Annis laughs. "Good girl. These artist types do need a firm hand," she says knowingly. "I trust he came crawling back, since you are here now?"

"Yes, we're good now, thanks."

"How did you select which ones to use for the collage?"

"We sorted through them, Ar— I mean, Drag and Lancelot and I, and chose the best and most interesting ones. I had final say over which ones were included, and then we just had to figure out how to put them together to make them look cohesive," she shrugs.

"You had final say?"

"Um, yes, some of the sketches had a… bit more of me than the others…" she answers, biting her lip.

Annis laughs again. "Welcome to the life of being a muse, darling."

"I realize at some point I'm going to have to deal with that, but I'm not _quite_ there yet," Gwen smiles.

"I would like to buy this piece," Annis says simply. "And… three of four others," she says, eyes scanning the room expertly.

Guinevere gasps as Annis reaches into her small clutch purse and produces a card, which she hands to her.

Gwen takes it with a trembling hand. _She's an art dealer?_ she thinks as she reads the card. "Thank you, Annis. Come, I'll take you to meet Drag."

"I would love that, thank you."

She ushers the older woman to where Arthur is chatting near the front with Gwaine, Leon, and Phil. Gwaine's eyebrows rise as Gwen approaches, assessing her mature but beautiful companion.

"Excuse me, I need to borrow him," Gwen says, gently taking Arthur's elbow.

"Anything for you, Sparrow," Gwaine says with a wink. He takes a moment to give Annis an appreciative glance before turning away. Phil sighs exasperatedly.

"Arthur, this is Annis Caerleon. She's an art dealer, and she's interested in buying several of your works. Including the collage. Annis, Arthur Pendragon," Gwen introduces them, and Arthur groan inwardly at Gwen using his full name.

"Drag," he corrects, shaking the woman's hand.

"Very pleased to meet you, young man," she says, completely unfazed by his unorthodox appearance.

Across the room, Lance looks up from his conversation with Merlin and Ox. "Excuse me, gents, I need to go join that conversation," he says, motioning to where Arthur and Gwen are talking with Annis.

Merlin looks. "Okay."

"She's important," he explains.

He strides over to them, and Annis spots him. "Lance, darling, so nice to see you!" she says warmly, embracing him and kissing both his cheeks.

"I see you've met the man of the hour," Lance says.

"Yes, he's just wonderful. And you were right; his work is fabulous. I love it, thank you for inviting me. I'm prepared to buy several."

"Really? That's fantastic!" Lance's face lights up. "Drag, this woman has contacts in all the major art centers all over the world. Paris, New York, San Francisco, Venice…"

"I can make sure your work gets seen, Drag."

"Wow. Um, wow. That's… I'm overwhelmed, sorry," he stumbles over his words, clutching Gwen's hand in his, his thumb anxiously stroking the back of her hand.

"I'd like to see the rest of those sketches sometime as well," she points to the collage. "Your charming little muse here let the cat out of the bag about there being more."

"Muse?" Arthur turns and looks at Gwen, smirking.

Gwen shrugs. "Her word, not mine," she chuckles.

"I think she's right," he says, reaching up to touch her face.

Annis watches them, noting the light in his eyes as he looks down at her, the way her lips part and her breathing speeds up as she looks up at him. _They certainly do love each other. I wonder if they know it yet._

"Arthur," she chides him gently, "public place, Love." She gently removes his hand from her face and turns to face Annis and Lance again.

"They're always like that. It's disgusting," Lance mutters to Annis, grinning.

"Oh, most certainly. Come, Lance. We have paperwork to do," she takes his arm and is about to turn, but then stops.

"Pendragon?" she asks.

 _Here it comes,_ Arthur sighs. "Yes?"

" _Pendragon_ Pendragon? As in financial wizard Uther Pendragon?"

"Yes," Arthur rolls his eyes. "He's my father, but don't ask him to admit it."

"Hm," a humorless laugh from Annis.

"Arthur Pendragon, disgrace of the mighty Pendragon family, at your service, my lady," he bows with a flourish.

"I'm sure you're not, my boy. And if your father doesn't acknowledge you, it is truly his loss." She turns and walks to the back of the gallery with Lance.

Arthur throws his arms around Gwen, enveloping her in a huge tight hug, lifting her off her feet. "Thank you, Guinevere," he says into her hair.


	37. Chapter 37

Evening gives over to night, and passers-by look with interest through the front windows, mainly at the small group conversing in the leather chairs in the front. Annis has been animatedly talking with Arthur and Gwaine, and the trio make an interesting sight: the older woman, distinguished if a little Bohemian, completely engrossed in conversation with the two punks, who are equally absorbed. Add Guinevere's sweet form in her red dress, now perched on the arm of Arthur's chair, his arm around her waist, and people stare as they pass.

Fifteen minutes before closing, an older man walks in. Gwen looks up at the sound of another patron, glances at him, then turns back to the conversation.

She sees him out of the corner of her eye, though, stopping deliberately in front of each work, studying each one carefully. This unusual scrutiny draws her attention and she leans over, plants a kiss on the side of Arthur's head and stands, slowly circulating, watching the man, interested.

Behind her she hears Gwaine's laughter as he points out the pink lipstick mark on the side of Arthur's skull, accompanied by his remarking on what a striking tattoo that would make. She rolls her eyes, amused, but turns her attention back to the visitor.

 _Distinguished. Well-dressed. Salt-and-pepper hair. Handsome; or was, in his youth._ She circles around, curious. _Is he another art dealer? Some well-connected patron of the arts?_

She glances back at Arthur and the other two. Annis now has Gwaine's hand in hers and is inspecting the massive Celtic tattoo, while Arthur is unbuttoning his shirt a just enough to show her his. Gwen chuckles and looks back to the stranger, who has stopped moving.

He is studying a painting, lingering over it longer than the others. _The storm painting,_ Gwen notes. One of her favorites, dark and spooky and beautiful.

"Is this painting spoken for yet?" the man asks suddenly but quietly as she slowly approaches.

"No, this is one of the few yet un-sold, sir," she says, walking forward.

"I should like to buy it," he says simply, turning to look at her fully. _This is the girl that he was holding in the chair. She's… lovely. Normal. Normal looking, anyway._

"Oh! That's wonderful, sir, I know Ar— Drag will appreciate that very much," she says.

Her stumbling over his name is not lost on the man, but he simply nods. _He allows her to call him Arthur. Interesting._

"Would you like to meet him? I'm sure I could persuade him to come over for a minute," she offers, gesturing towards where he is sitting in the window, still busy with Gwaine and Annis. Annis is now leaning over Arthur, peering at the dragon inked on his shoulder as best she can, assuring him that he does not need to take his shirt off.

"I am certain that you could, my dear, but it is not necessary, thank you," he says with a smile that somehow looks sad.

"Oh. Um, all right. I'll just go have Lance see to the sale, and you may come to the desk when you are ready, then."

He glances around the room, eyes falling briefly on the painting of Gwen's back, seated amongst the bed sheets, her hair spilling over one shoulder. Arthur's favorite. He looks back at her, then back to the painting, then to her again. She blushes and bites her lip, looking to the side. The man peers at a small piece of paper tacked to the wall next to it with the words "Not for sale" scrawled on it by what is surely Arthur's hand.

"I am ready now, thank you," he says, accompanying her to the desk, where Lance is waiting.

As Lance takes care of the purchase and arranges delivery, Merlin wanders over to talk to Gwen. The man turns to leave and Merlin ducks behind a pillar until he passes.

He purposefully strides out of the gallery, and Lance follows presently to lock the door behind him, as the only people left are the six of them.

"Gwen," Merlin says quietly, motioning her over.

"Yes?" she turns.

"Do you know who that was?" he asks.

"No," she shrugs. "He bought the storm painting."

"I'm not surprised," Merlin says. "That tree, that landscape? That's the view from the front of his summer house."

"What?" Gwen asks, confused.

"That was Arthur's father."

xXx

"Lance, this was truly a triumphant opening," Annis declares, standing, readying to leave. "Excellent for your gallery and for young Drag, here."

"Thank you, Annis, I cannot say how pleased I am that you decided to attend," Lance says, clasping her hands between his.

"Drag," she turns, "I will be in touch. I have your number and Gwen has my card." She surveys the gallery one last time. "Yes," she nods, almost to herself, "these are good."

"Annis, I cannot thank you enough," Arthur says, impulsively hugging her.

"Now, now, I haven't done anything yet. Well, except purchase half your paintings, of course," she laughs. "But I am tired and I have many calls to make tomorrow morning, so if you will excuse me, I need to go home. Oh, and I loved the tiny chili dogs, by the way. It was quite refreshing having _real_ food at one of these things for a change."

Arthur grins triumphantly at Lance, who scowls. Gwen laughs at them both, and steps forward to say goodbye to Annis.

"Thank you, Annis, have a good night," Gwen says.

Annis squeezes her hand. "Look after him," she says. "He loves you very much."

"I will, and I know," Gwen smiles and blushes, looking down.

"Gwaine, my pet," she turns, and hands him a card. "I will be in touch about adverts. I love your flyers for this show, and I haven't been happy with the ad company I've been using."

"Excellent," he grins, staring at the card. "Oh," he says, remembering. He fishes his wallet out of his pocket and withdraws a slightly worn-looking card of his own and hands it to her. "Sorry it's a little, um, bent."

Annis chuckles and tucks his card into her purse. "Quite all right, never mind," she says. "Gentlemen," she nods to them, "Gwen; goodnight."

Lance walks with her to the door and unlocks it for her, then locks it again behind her.

"That went well," he says casually, sauntering towards the others. "Pub?"

Merlin and Gwaine are game, but Gwen is exhausted.

"You lads go on ahead. We're going to go home," Arthur says, taking Gwen's hand.

"Right," Gwaine nods, smirking knowingly.

"Piss off, you," Arthur says casually, walking back to retrieve their bag from the office.

"Lance, thank you so much, this was all so brilliant," Gwen tells him.

"Well, it's not _really_ over, you know. He'll be on display here for the next two weeks," he smiles. "Gwen?" he asks, glancing quickly at the back. "That last man that came in? I think he was—"

"Arthur's father, yes. Merlin told me. I didn't know."

"I'm confused."

"Uther disowned him," Merlin simply says.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later," Merlin answers as he hears the distant flush of a toilet and figures Arthur will be reappearing soon. "Gwen, are you going to tell him?"

"That his father came and bought a painting?"

Merlin nods.

"Yes."

"Good."

"Ready, my love?" Arthur asks, striding forward.

"Could not be more ready," she answers, sighing.

"Have a good time at the pub, lads," Arthur says outside, as he and Gwen go to her car and the other three head the opposite way.

"We will, but I'll wager you'll have more…" Gwaine calls back. This time Arthur just laughs.

"Arthur," Gwen says, "let's go to your flat."

"What?" he asks, starting the car and pulling out into the sparse late-night traffic.

"Well, you've been neglecting Iggy," she says, determined to make him admit that he's slowly been moving in with her.

"We could pick him up and take him to your flat," Arthur suggests, trying to sound casual, eyes carefully on the road.

 _Got him._ "Arthur, if you want to move in with me, just ask," she finally says, looking at him.

He is silent for a minute, choosing his next words carefully. "May I?" he quietly asks.

"Yes, Arthur. You may."

He grins then, pulling her car in front of his flat and parking it. He reaches over to her and kisses her there in the car, his hand caressing her face, his thumb on her cheek and his fingers on her neck.

"You've already got half your stuff there, anyway," she teases, her eyes twinkling.

"You noticed, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to," she says, kissing his nose. "Let's go get Iggy then."

xXx

"Yes, baby, this is your new home," Gwen coos to Iggy as she carries him inside. He meows; she kisses him between his ears and sets him down.

Arthur trudges in behind her with the cat box and a few other things. "Where do you want this?"

"Loo, I guess," she shrugs. He heads back with the box and the sack of litter to go set it up.

 _I need to tell him about his father,_ Gwen thinks. _I just don't know how to bring it up._ She sits and removes her shoes, unwinding the long ties from around her legs, noting the slight marks left there.

"Be right back," Arthur says, heading back out to her car for the cat food and Iggy's bed.

"What do you think?" she asks Iggy, who has trotted over to bat at the ties of her sandals. "Why am I asking you? No, no, do not eat," she says, picking the sandals up now to put them away. She hears Arthur come back in and lock the door behind him.

 _I'll have to get him a key,_ she thinks idly.

"I'll call my landlord on Monday and give notice," she hears him call from the kitchen.

"Okay," she answers back, undressing now, still mulling things over.

"Guinevere, I think today was quite likely the best day of my life, and I owe it all to you, my love," Arthur announces as he strides into the bedroom. He sees her hanging her dress up, clad only in her knickers.

"Strike that," he says, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. "Today is definitely the best day of my life." He kisses her neck, his hands caressing her stomach, her breasts.

She sighs against him, his touch hypnotic as always. Then she remembers what she wanted to tell him. _But he is in such a good mood, I hate to ruin it._

Arthur's lips skim over the skin of her neck and she turns around in his arms, pressing her lips to his, her tongue sliding in between his lips while her fingers unbutton his shirt.

"Arthur, your talent got you the show," she says, pulling her lips away and sliding his shirt from his shoulders. "All I did was show _your_ work to the right person."

"You are too modest," he argues, pulling her to the bed and opening his trousers, walking his way out of them.

They tumble to the bed, and Arthur removes her knickers, sliding them down over her hips and legs and tossing them aside. He drops down beside her, trailing his fingers along her torso.

"God, I love you," he whispers, kissing her again.

Gwen reaches her hand up to his head, cradling his face, rubbing his earlobe gently between her thumb and forefinger. "I love you, too," she answers back, leaning her head back as he kisses down her neck.

Arthur's hand finds one breast, his lips, the other. As he teases her nipples to stiff peaks with his tongue and his fingers, he cannot help but notice that she seems distracted. _She's quieter than usual. Her hands aren't as busy as usual._

"Guinevere, what is troubling you, Sweet?" he asks, lifting his head to look at her.

"Nothing, Arthur," she says, "I'm just a bit tired."

"Guinevere…"

She sighs. "I don't want to put a damper on your day."

He rolls to the side, pulling her into the circle of his arms. "So something is troubling you, then."

"Arthur," she hesitantly starts, "do you remember when you were talking with Gwaine and Annis and I left? When I kissed your head and Gwaine said it would make a—"

"A nice tattoo, yes."

"Um, your father came in."

"What?" he sits up. "Why didn't you tell me he was there?"

"I didn't know it was him until after he left, Arthur. I had no idea."

"I know," he sighs. "You've never seen him. He wouldn't have given his name."

"Merlin told me after he left. He only just spotted him."

"Hmm."

"He bought a painting."

"The storm," Arthur guesses, lying back down.

"How did you know?"

Arthur says nothing, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Arthur, please talk to me."

"That storm happened when I was about eight. Summer home. It was huge. My father loved storms."

She lies quietly beside him, listening.

"He stood on the front porch watching it approach. I went out and stood with him a few minutes, fascinated by the colors and shapes in the clouds. I had never seen _orange_ clouds before."

"You had your artist's eyes even back then," she says, smiling.

"Yes, I think that was the first time I realized it. I didn't paint the picture until 15 years later, and the image was just as vivid in my mind. It was like I was standing on the porch again."

"I can only imagine what that would have looked like for real."

"It was literally awesome. I stood there with him, and he actually reached over and put his hand on my shoulder."

"Oh."

"For him, that was the equivalent of a hug."

Gwen caresses his chest, sliding her hand across to squeeze him.

"Then the wind picked up and the rain started coming down in sheets. One huge bolt of lighting and an extraordinarily loud crack of thunder sent me scurrying into the house, where Mo and I rode out the storm huddled together, wrapped in a quilt, underneath the dining room table."

Gwen can picture the two of them and the image is so sweet she cannot help but smile. "What did your father do?"

"He stayed out on the patio watching the storm rage around him. When he came back in, Morgana and I had fallen asleep."

Arthur is quiet for a few minutes, absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

"Are you okay?" Gwen asks quietly.

"Just… wondering what he's playing at. Why did he come?"

"Maybe he's ready to reconcile," she says, but then she remembers that he didn't want to see Arthur. _That won't be necessary, he had said._ At the time she had thought it a curious choice of words, but considering she had asked him if he wanted to _meet_ Arthur, suddenly his response makes sense.

"Doubtful. I'm also going to kill my sister."

"You think she sent him a flyer?"

"I _know_ she sent him a flyer."

"Don't kill her, Arthur. She's proud of you, and she wanted to share her joy with your father. Who knows, maybe she did it to rub his nose in your success; success you achieved without his help."

"Hmm," he answers noncommittally.

"I'm sorry I wrecked your day," she says sadly, tucking her head into his chest.

"You didn't, Love. I'm glad you told me," he says, gently tilting her face back up.

"I was going to wait until after…"

"You were too distracted by it," he smirks at her.

"Sorry."

"For what? The night is young." He bends his head and kisses her. "Nothing to wake up for tomorrow morning." He kisses her again. "Iggy won't need seeing to, because he's here." Again. "And if anyone put a cloud over the evening, it was my father," another kiss, "not you."

He kisses her deeply now, pulling her over him, bringing her face up closer to his. "And I'm done talking about him, anyway," he declares, sliding his hand down her back to squeeze her backside.

 _He can really shift gears fast,_ she can't help thinking, losing herself in his kiss, sliding her hands up to cup his face, stroke his cheeks with her thumbs.

Gwen nibbles his lips, pulling his full lower lip in between her teeth and sucking on it, tugging on it, before releasing it to slide her tongue down the side of his neck, tracing the tendons. She slides her body down over his slightly, kissing his chest, teasing his nipples with her tongue as she presses her stomach against his hardness.

"Guinevere," he sighs her name, and she hums in the back of her throat at the sound of it, amazed that its effect on her hasn't lessened.

_His voice saying my name still turns me to jelly._

She kisses his stomach before grasping his shaft in her hand, feathering her lips along its length.

"God…" he groans, his hand groping for her, but her body is too low, so he brushes his fingertips against her cheek.

She smiles and places gentle kisses on his manhood, wrapping her hand around its base and squeezing lightly.

"I want to touch you," he says, his voice rough. She slides her body around so he can reach her, his hand sliding along her thigh, skimming his hand up and around, reaching in between just as she plunges the length of him in her mouth.

Arthur's fingers slip between her folds, sliding and caressing her moist warmth, groaning as she works her mouth on him, her lips and tongue sucking and swirling expertly. He slides a finger into her, and she moans against him.

"Oh," she pulls away from him a moment, then dives back in, her hand working with her mouth.

"Guinevere…" he gasps, needing her to stop, but kind of wanting her to not. He removes his fingers from her and grips her hip, hoping that she'll understand, because he doesn't seem to be able to finish his sentence.

She understands and releases him, kissing the tip gently one last time before rotating her body, bringing her face back up to his.

She kisses him and says, "I'm surprised you didn't grab my foot, actually."

"Oh, shit…" he answers, chuckling, "I didn't even think…"

"Wow, you're losing it," she laughs at him, capturing his lips again.

Arthur just growls and flips her over, climbing over her, prowling across her body. He takes a breast in his mouth, flicking his tongue over her nipple as he drops his hand to again touch her, moving his fingers in unison with his tongue.

"Arth…" his name dies on her lips as she grips the sheets in her hands. "Please…"

He bites her nipple just lightly and she cries out, begging for him again, and this time he complies, thrusting forward into her waiting warmth, burying himself deep and stilling, just savoring this moment, the moment where they are as close as two people can be, the moment where the entire world melts away and it is just the two of them; she becomes his world and he becomes hers.

Arthur kisses her then, slowly, sweetly, pouring all his love for her into this kiss. He starts to move now, swift and gentle, like he did that first morning on her sofa.

Gwen sighs and skims her hands across his chest, spreading them outward and around, under his arms, to hold his back, her fingers splaying as she feels the broad flat muscles working beneath his skin.

He speeds up when he feels her fingernails dig into his skin. He opens his eyes to see her shimmering lips parted, her eyes closed, her beautiful skin flushed. His hand finds her breast; her leg finds his hip.

"Oh…" she moans, arching, pulling him closer, driving him faster. He leans over her, acquiescing to her demands, and she digs her nails in again and kisses his neck. A moment later he feels her teeth on his shoulder, biting as she whimpers.

"More, Arthur."

"Okay," he gasps, moving slightly faster and a lot harder.

"Yes…"

He keeps it up, driving, their bodies becoming slightly slippery with the light coating of sweat forming. She releases her grip on his shoulders and reaches for his hands, threading their fingers together, allowing him to press back on them, pinning them on the bed.

She is crying out now as she unravels beneath him, squeezing his hands, her leg squeezing his hip. He lets loose as well, releasing forcefully into her with a strangled, "G—"

Arthur drops over her, scooting low enough to rest his head on her chest, their hands still joined at either side of her head.

He listens to her heartbeat, listens as it gradually slows, returning to its normal pace. He turns his face and kisses the space over her heart.

"You were amazing today, Guinevere," he says finally, rolling off of her and pulling her into his arms.

"I didn't do anything. It was you who deserves all the praise."

"You had everyone you spoke with eating out of your beautiful little hands."

"So did you," she counters. "You were very charming."

"Yes, I was, wasn't I?" he grins, and she swats his chest.

"It was a good show. And Annis seems really great," Gwen says, cuddling against him, completely content.

"She is. She's been in the business for a long time. She really knows a lot of people. Important people. But she's completely down-to-earth. Nothing posh about her."

"And she even seemed impressed with Gwaine and his work, which is great for him."

Arthur shrugs. "It is. But it's not like he needs the money."

"What?" Gwen looks up, confused.

"Guinevere, have you ever heard him complain or even say one word about money?"

"No, but I guess I never really paid attention to it. Doesn't seem like something someone like him would really care about anyway."

"Yeah. That's because he and Phil have a whopping great inheritance."

"Oh," Gwen is surprised. She remembered hearing something about their parents dying, but that was all she knew.

"Their mother was a brilliant scientist. Chemist, actually. She invented Magic Wash. You know, that green stuff with the cartoon leprechaun on the bottle?"

"Really? I love that stuff. It cleans everything."

"Yeah. She developed the formula and had the presence of mind to patent it before selling it to the Fyrien Corporation. Made a boatload of money." Arthur trails his fingers along her side while he talks.

"Wow," is all Gwen can think to say. "I did wonder how someone so young could own a business already."

"Yeah, he's got people to handle all the details that he doesn't feel like bothering with. Like Pop; he handles a lot of his affairs."

"Really?"

He nods. "Pop's a brilliant man, really."

"Fascinating. How did they die?"

"Plane crash. Gwaine was 18 and Phil was 17."

"Wow," Gwen repeats, putting her head back down on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Arthur agrees. "It was rough."

She settles in against him, turning, closing her eyes as he spoons up behind her, wrapping an arm around her.

"I always thought the leprechaun on the bottle looked like Gwaine," Arthur says sleepily.


	38. Chapter 38

_Is someone sawing timber outside?_

Gwen scrunches her eyes together, then blinks them open. It is barely light outside, and Arthur is sprawled on his back beside her, mouth wide open with the most God-awful racket issuing forth.

 _This is bad, even for him,_ she thinks, trying her normal tactic of stroking his cheek to get him to turn and shut up. _He feels a little warm,_ she notes, then presses her hand to his cheek, firmer, followed by his forehead. _It's not too hot in here. I hope he hasn't caught something._

She leans over and kisses his forehead, and his skin feels hot against her lips. _Damn._

Arthur stirs, snorts, and turns, flopping to his side, facing away from her. He is quieter, but she can tell he's congested.

She lies back down with a sigh, and tries to go back to sleep.

Gwen dozes fitfully, drifting in and out for a while, listening to Arthur's stuffy breathing. Finally she gives up and gets up, tucking him in after she rises. She pulls on her robe and heads out to the kitchen.

She makes a list, throws some clothes on, re-secures her hair back, and heads quietly out.

A short time later, Arthur stirs. He flops over, groping for Gwen and finding only empty bed.

"Ugh," he groans, opening his eyes and realizing the he feels like his head is under water.

"Guinevere?" he calls, his voice a croak. He tries clearing it to no avail. Then he turns his head and sees a note on the bedside table.

_Gone to the market. Back soon._ _ Stay in bed! _

He flops back onto the pillow, sadly smiling at the fact that she already knew he was sick. _I'm sure I'm allowed to get up to have a pee,_ he thinks, swinging his feet to the floor and sitting up.

"Whoa," he says when the room tilts sharply. He waits until the room rights itself before attempting to stand.

He returns and looks for a pair of his shorts. _I know I have at least one pair around here somewhere,_ he thinks, opening drawers and doors, pausing for a moment to appreciate her knickers, before finding them. When he bends to pull them on, it feels like his brain is trying to expand and push its way out of his head.

"Shit," he exclaims, blinking as he stands. He stumbles over to the bed and flops down on it.

Arthur lays there in bed, feeling miserable. He slowly gets up again, shuffles back to the loo, cursing the fact that he didn't think of this before, digs around for some aspirin, takes it, shuffles back to the bed and falls back in.

 _I was supposed to go back to the gallery today,_ he thinks sadly, reaching down and pulling the covers up to his chin. He turns onto his side and then pulls the covers over his head.

A sound wakes him up some time later, and Arthur jumps a little, not realizing that he had fallen back to sleep.

 _Guinevere,_ he thinks, and snuggles into the covers, feeling a little better just because she's back. Or at least he imagines he does.

He hears the rustle of bags as she sets her shopping on the kitchen counter. Her soft voice, talking to Iggy.

Then she leaves again.

The door opens a moment later, and he hears the distinct _thunk, thunk_ of her setting down two large glass containers on the counter.

_She brought my candy._

Gwen makes one more trip out, returning with the third jar, _thunk,_ and something else that goes _fwap_ and _rattle._

_Did she bring some of my drawing stuff over?_

Arthur intends to lie in bed and pretend he's still sleeping until she comes to investigate, but his nose has other ideas. He sneezes, loudly.

"Ow," he complains, pressing his hand to his forehead.

A moment later Gwen is at his side with a glass of orange juice. "How are you feeling?" she asks, placing her hand on his head, then kissing his forehead again.

"Like my head is inside an elephant's bum," he says, his voice still hoarse.

"Interesting analogy, but I'm sorry you don't feel well," she says, fussing over him, propping pillows behind him. "You should try to sit upright. Help your head drain."

He sits up. "A constipated elephant," he amends, and she hands him the glass.

"Drink."

"I found some aspirin in the cabinet already. Took some," he says, drinking obediently.

"Good. I'm going to make you some soup," she tells him, kissing his forehead one more time, lingering a bit. "You're not as warm as you were, that's good. I think this is just a nasty cold."

"As I was?"

"At around five. Your snoring woke me," she says, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry," he says, drinking again.

"I thought someone had a chainsaw outside," she smiles, lifting her hand to his cheek. "You don't normally snore _that_ loud, so…"

"I don't normally snore at all!" he protests.

"Arthur," she looks at him. "Honestly, you're going to argue with me on this?"

"I do?"

"Yes. And most of the time it doesn't bother me, honest. But this morning it was like a pig had gotten into the flat," she says, smirking at him.

"Thanks," he glumly says.

"But that's how I knew you had caught cold. All the stuffiness was making you loud. And you had a slight fever."

"Did you take my temperature or something? I didn't notice a thing…"

"Well, it helps to warm up the rectal thermometer before inserting it, you know," she teases, laughing when his eyes grow wide. "I just felt your forehead, and kissed it," she leans forward and does it yet again, "like this."

"What good does kissing my forehead do? I mean, apart from just making _me_ feel special," he chuckles.

"Best way to feel for fever, my love," she says, standing now. "I'll bring you some toast in a minute."

"So I'm just supposed to lay here?"

"You have a better idea?"

"Can I at least come out to the couch so I can watch telly or something? It's _boring_ back here without you."

"God, you're like a child," she sighs. "Come on then. Grab your pillow."

"I'm supposed to go back to Lance's today," he grumbles, grabbing the pillow and the quilt from her bed, dragging it behind him to the sofa.

"Arthur, I have other blankets," she sighs.

"I like this one."

"It smells like me," she guesses, giving up. "And I'll go to the gallery."

"You don't have to do that, Sweet," he says, but he knows that there really is nothing to discuss.

In fact, she doesn't even bother answering him. She just helps get him settled in on the couch, pulling the coffee table close so he can reach his juice, then flips on the TV for him, turning the dial until he finds something he wants to watch.

"Thank you," he says, giving her a pathetic smile as she heads back to the kitchen.

He hears her puttering in the kitchen, listening as she unpacks her shopping.

_Sounds like a lot. Wasn't she just going to make soup?_

She comes out with his toast, and he smiles as she hands him two slices, one with marmalade, the other with blueberry jam.

"I was going to protest if there was only butter on these," he warns.

"I know better," she says, returning to the kitchen.

Arthur hears her filling what sounds like a large pot with water and setting it on the stove. He hears chopping. Things being dropped into the water.

"What are you doing?" he finally calls.

"I told you, I'm making soup."

"Surely that just involves a can opener," he says.

Gwen emerges with a carrot in one hand, a large knife in the other, and fixes him in a stare. "Honestly? You think _tinned_ soup is going to do you any good at all?"

"You're _making_ making soup? Like with a real chicken?"

Gwen just makes an exasperated noise and returns to the kitchen.

"What?" he calls, then sneezes again.

"Bless you."

Arthur eats his toast and watches cartoons. He actually does feel like a child, a little. He finds he's enjoying having her take care of him.

He sneezes a few more times, prompting Gwen to come out and place a box of tissues on the table for him and a small trash bin on the floor.

xXx

"You're going _now?_ " Arthur asks, pouting.

"Yes," she says, showered and dressed, picking up her purse.

"What about the soup?"

"The soup will be fine. It needs to simmer, so don't touch it. It's not done yet."

"What about lunch?"

"Are you always this needy when you're not feeling well?"

He says nothing, taking a drink of his juice.

"I'll come back for lunch. Here," she moves the phone so it's sitting within his reach. "In case someone calls. Like me."

"I want you to take a shower at some point," she orders, coming over to crouch beside him now. "A really hot one. Stand there and breathe in the steam for a while. And take these," she puts a couple tablets on the table, "in an hour."

"Okay. Thank you, Guinevere," he says, smiling.

"I love you," she says, bending and kissing his cheek.

"I love you, too," he says, wanting more of a kiss, but he doesn't want to get her sick, too.

She leaves, driving her small car to the gallery.

 _I wonder if he was starting to feel lousy yesterday,_ she thinks. _Probably was too busy and running on too much adrenaline to even notice._

The gallery door is unlocked, though it's not officially open. "Hello?" Gwen calls as she walks in, her eyes again taking in the wonderful sight of Arthur's art everywhere.

"Gwen!" Lance comes out. "I was expecting Arthur..." he looks confused.

"Arthur woke up with a terrible head cold," Gwen tells him. "So you're stuck with me."

"You'll just have to do, then," he grins at her. "Hope he's all right," Lance adds, looking around the gallery as if he is wondering if he should douse the place with bleach.

"He'll be fine. It's just a cold. A nasty one, yes, but I have every confidence that he'll make a full recovery. I've left him at home on the couch watching cartoons and drinking orange juice."

"What is he, nine?"

"Acting like it," she laughs. "So. What do we do now?"

"We go over the sales slips. Start figuring out how much cash he's brought us," he grins.

"Are you going to lock the door?"

"Nah, someone may wander in. I'm not technically open, but since I'm here, I'm not turning away visitors."

They sit at the desk in the back, sorting papers and chatting.

"Gwen," Lance asks, trying to sound casual. Gwen knows him too well for him to get away with it.

"Yes?" she looks up expectantly at him.

"Are things… good? With him?"

She smiles. _He's still worried about me._ "Yes, Lance, they're very good. He's, um, moving in with me."

"With you?"

"My flat is bigger and nicer."

"So, then… you think he's the one?"

"The one what?" she asks, setting the order form she was looking at on the pile.

"You know, _the_ one. The _one._ "

Gwen laughs at him. "You sound like a teenage girl. And yes."

"I figured as much," he says. "You never looked at me the way you look at him," he adds, smirking lightly.

"Sorry," she says, reaching her hand over and placing it over his.

"Well, in all fairness, I never looked at you the way he looks at you, either," he chuckles, turning his hand beneath hers and squeezing it.

"So we're even, then," she laughs.

He looks at her, and they study each other for a moment. "I'm glad. I'm happy you've found happiness."

"What about you, Lance?"

He shrugs. "I've dated a little. No one lasted past two dates. So I guess I'm still looking for that special person."

"You'd think that in all your travels you'd manage to find _someone,_ " Gwen comments. "Paris, New York, back to London. It's not like you were in the Sahara or anything, or living in a cave."

He chuckles. "I know. I guess I have to figure out what I'm looking for, first. Figure out…"

The door opens and they look up. A middle-aged couple enters, looking around.

"Hello," Lance calls, walking forward.

"I'm so glad you're open," the woman says. "We had intended to come last night and it got completely forgotten."

"Well, there are one or two items still available, and he is available for commissions as well."

"Is the artist here?" the man asks, looking around and seeing only Gwen sitting at the counter, studying a slip of paper.

"Unfortunately, he woke up feeling under the weather today. He was supposed to be here, but if you have any questions, I'm sure Gwen or I would be able to answer them," Lance answers, indicating Guinevere, who looks up and waves.

"We'll just look around a bit and let you know," the man says.

"Anything with a red dot on the placard is sold," Lance says, leaving them.

"I still feel a little weird," Gwen whispers to Lance.

"About what?"

"About the fact that I'm in so many of these pieces," she says.

"Excuse me," the man says, and Lance looks up.

"Yes?" he starts walking over.

"You are certain he will not sell this one?"

"Um, Gwen?"

Gwen comes over now, sighing inwardly. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he won't part with that one."

"Pity. It's beautiful," the man says, turning back to it.

"We could call him and confirm, if you'd like," Lance offers.

"Won't do any good," Gwen says quietly, earning her a dirty look from Lance.

"Would you?" the man turns back to them, coming up short as he actually looks at Gwen and realizes that she is the woman in the painting.

 _There it is,_ Gwen thinks, as the familiar feeling of mild embarrassment creeps over her again.

"I'll call him," she says, grateful to be able to escape, beating Lance to the punch.

"Tim, come look at this," the woman calls to him. She is standing in front of the painting of Arthur and Merlin as children, contemplating the unseen frog in Arthur's hand.

"Hello?" Arthur's voice, made deeper by the cold, answers.

"Hello, darling, how are you feeling?"

"Eh."

"Did you take a shower yet?"

"Once Bugs Bunny is done."

Gwen laughs, and she can even hear the _beep beep_ of the Road Runner in the background. "Sounds more like Road Runner and Coyote."

He laughs, which turns into a cough. "Yeah, that's new," he says, "been coughing a bit now."

"Probably your sinuses draining down the back of your throat," she says, realizing she needs to get to her point.

"Yuck."

"Gross but true. Anyway, there's a man here who wants to know if that one painting is really not for sale."

"Of course it isn't, you know that."

"I know. But Lance told them we'd call and confirm. I _told_ him you wouldn't budge, but…" she smiles, finding that she actually rather likes that Arthur is so adamant about keeping that painting for himself.

"Right. No. Not for sale. I will have a special coffin constructed so that it can be buried with me when I die."

 _He'd do it, too,_ she thinks, chuckling. "Take a shower, love."

"Yeah."

"Sorry, still not for sale," Gwen announces, hanging up the phone. "He's quite stubborn, I'm afraid."

"Well, if the woman in the painting cannot convince him, I guess there's nothing for it," the man sighs, turning back to his companion. Gwen watches them, and realizes they are not a couple. Perhaps business associates. She looks like she is trying to convince him of something.

"She wants the painting of little Arthur and Merlin," Lance comes over and tells her quietly. "She runs a child care facility that he owns. She wants it for there."

"That would be a good painting for a child care center," Gwen says. "I love that one, it's just so sweet. Merlin's mum cried when she saw it."

"I saw that, she seemed a lovely woman. Tom seemed a bit smitten as well," he laughs.

"I know, I'm trying to work on that."

"Always busy, you are," Lance chuckles.

"All right, we'll take that one, the one of the two boys," Tim comes over and says, sighing. The woman is beaming behind him.

"The blonde boy is actually Drag, the artist," Gwen tells them.

"Really?" the woman asks. "And the other?"

"His best friend, Merlin. They are still best friends, too."

"That is wonderful. Do you know what they are looking at?"

"A frog," Gwen smiles, and the woman laughs.

"Fantastic." She smiles and reaches over and takes a card from the holder on the counter, slipping it in her purse.

"All set," Lance says, handing the slip to Tim to sign.

"I'm sorry he wasn't able to be here," Tim says, signing his name. "I would have liked to have met him. Perhaps I could have convinced him to part with that painting."

"Not likely," Gwen says.

"In any case, this Drag is a very lucky man," he says pointedly, nodding at Gwen. She just smiles politely. _He's starting to creep me out a bit now._

They turn to leave and Gwen mutters to Lance, "And _he_ is very lucky that Arthur wasn't here."

"Aw, I would have liked to have seen the Alpha Male in action," Lance teases.

xXx

Arthur spends twenty minutes in the shower, trying to absorb as much steam as he can. He steps out, shivers in the cold air, wrapping himself in two towels.

He pulls his shorts back on and looks for a t-shirt as well, wishing he had some more of his clothes, knowing he has at least one pair of soft cotton pajamas that would be lovely right now.

He refills his glass, grabs a couple licorice ropes, and dives quickly back under his quilt on the couch, burrowing in deep.

Then the phone rings again.

"Fuuuuucckkk…" he groans, pulling an arm out to grab the phone.

"Hello?"

"…Pendragon, is that you? You sound like shit," Gwen's father's confused voice comes through the line.

"Yes, sir, that's about how I feel, thanks."

"Is… is Gwen there?" he asks, obviously thrown off by Arthur answering his daughter's phone.

"Actually, she's at the gallery. I was supposed to be there today, but that wasn't happening."

"So you're at her flat. Alone."

"Um, yes…" he says, not sure if he should break the news to her father. _I may not have a choice._

"And she's okay with you answering her phone?"

"She put the phone by the couch so I could reach it in case someone called, sir. So I assume she is okay with me answering. I honestly thought you were her calling. She called earlier."

"Hmm."

"Can I give her a message?" Arthur asks as Iggy leaps up onto the couch. He lets out a rather loud meow. _Oh, no._

"Was that a cat? Since when does Gwen have a cat?"

"Ah, well sir, that's my cat…"

" _Your_ cat?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Pendragon, are you shacking up with my daughter?"

Arthur pauses. "A bit."

"A bit?"

"Look, I'm not entirely comfortable with the fact that you're hearing this from me, and I'm sorry. It literally _just_ happened last night, honest."

"So the first thing you moved was the cat?"

"Officially, yes."

"And un-officially?"

"Un-officially, I've been sneaking my things over for about a week and a half," he admits.

"Hmm."

"I know you probably don't approve, sir, but Gwen is a grown woman, and it is 1977 and everything, and…"

"Pendragon," Tom interrupts.

"Yes, sir?"

"Stop. I'll discuss this with Gwen later."

"Um, okay."

"And Arthur?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't screw it up. Remember I carry a gun."

"Yes, sir. I'll… I'll just tell Guinevere that you called then, shall I?"

"Yes, do."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day."

"Hope you feel better," Tom says, and hangs up the phone.

Arthur stares at the handset a moment, then hangs up.

 _I can't tell if he's upset or not. Guinevere may kill me, though._ He looks down at Iggy, looking up at him innocently. "You had to open your bloody mouth, didn't you?"

xXx

Gwen enters the flat quietly, not wanting to wake Arthur if he's sleeping. The snores that greet her confirm her suspicions.

She pads over to the couch, and he his curled on his side, blanket up to his chin and Iggy curled behind his bent knees.

 _If he wasn't snoring and drooling, this would actually be really cute,_ she thinks, turning to go to the kitchen and her soup.

"Guinevere?" Arthur's hoarse voice calls to her a short time later. Gwen is adding dumplings to the soup, scraping the sticky dough in small dollops from a teaspoon with a butter knife into the boiling soup.

"One second," she says. _Scrape. Plop._

She comes out to find him sitting up now, hair hanging limply to one side. "How are you feeling, Love?"

"Slightly better," he says, tilting his head to receive her kiss on his scratchy cheek.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes. I've been smelling that damn soup all morning, you know."

"Sorry. Just finishing it up right now."

He stands with a groan, and Iggy hops down from the couch.

"He seems to have settled right in," she says, heading back to finish adding the dumplings.

"If I moved him anywhere but _your_ flat, he'd be shredding the furniture and shitting everywhere, you know," he calls, heading for the bathroom.

Gwen laughs, scooping the last of the dough up into her spoon.

Arthur trudges in and sits at the table, resting his head on his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Dumplings. Didn't feel like noodles."

"Aha." He spies the pot on the stove. It's huge. "Do you think you made enough?" he teases.

"I do not have the ability to make a _little_ soup," she confesses. "I've tried. It just doesn't work."

"No recipe?"

"It's soup, Arthur, you don't need a recipe."

"Maybe _you_ don't. If I tried it would end up a pot of crap."

She ladles out two bowls and brings them to the table. "Bread or crackers?"

"Bread," he says, stirring his soup. "Um, Guinevere?"

"Yes? You need something?"

"No. Just… your father called this morning."

"Oh, okay."

"He… he might have gotten the impression we were living together," he says carefully.

"Oh. And how exactly did that happen?"

"I didn't want to tell him, honest. I mean, he's not _my_ dad, and he's critical enough of me already."

"Go on," she says, buttering a slice of bread.

"He was asking why I was answering your phone. I was trying to explain that you had put the phone within my reach so that I could answer it, and then Iggy jumped on my lap and…"

"Yes?"

"He _meowed,_ rather loudly. I think he was trying to get me in trouble. Fucking cat."

Gwen laughs now. "And I suppose Dad heard the meow."

"Yeah. So… you're supposed to call him."

"After we eat."

"You're not upset?"

"Well, it's not _quite_ how I would have liked for him to find out, but you really had no other option. Given the fact that Iggy busted you and all."

"I don't know if your father is upset or not. I couldn't tell."

"I'll sort it out. After lunch."

"This soup is outstanding," he says, blowing on a spoonful.

"Thank you. Oh, I almost forgot," Gwen says, standing and going to her purse. She returns with something small in her hand, which she places on the table next to his bowl.

"My own key," he smiles, picking it up. "Thank you, Sweet. I guess that makes it official, hey?"

"Well, once you tell your landlord you're moving, _then_ it will be official," she reminds him.

"Right," he laughs, turning the key between his fingers a moment before setting it down again.

Arthur finishes two bowls of soup and four pieces of bread. Gwen stacks the bowls in the sink and sighs.

"Time to face the music," she says, walking to the living room to sit on the sofa next to Arthur, who is taking more cold medicine and tucking himself back in. He's found football, so he'll be set for the next few hours.

"Hi, Dad," she says into the phone.

"Had an interesting conversation with Arthur this morning," he replies, wasting no time.

"I know. He told me."

"I'm not exactly thrilled by this news, Guinevere."

"I didn't expect you to be."

"You're certain this is what you want to do?" he asks.

 _So it's not about living in sin, it's about my happiness. That's better, I guess._ "Yes."

"So you love him, then?"

"I do."

"And he loves you? Do you think that he's in this for the long haul?"

" _Yes,_ Dad."

"I do feel better since that show went well last night. I was actually originally calling to offer to take you both out for dinner tonight, but if he's ill, then probably not."

"We'll take a rain check on that," Gwen confirms.

"Gwen, have you told your mother about him?"

"Yes. She called a few weeks ago."

"I see. You know I'm just worried about your happiness. I don't want you to end up in an unhappy marriage like your mum and I."

"I know that, Daddy. But Arthur and I are not you and Mum."

"I know. How is she, anyway?"

"Do you really care?"

"Not really."

"Apparently she's getting married. Some bloke called Pierre or something."

"Oh, really?" he says, sounding more interested than she would have thought.

"Yeah, I didn't even know she was seeing someone."

"I'll have to give my lawyer a call," he says absently, almost to himself.

"Why?"

"If she gets married, I might not have to pay her any more."

"Well there's a silver lining, then," Gwen laughs. "But anyway. You're okay with Arthur and me living together?"

"I don't know if _okay_ is exactly the word for it, but…"

" _But_ since I am an adult and you are not the one paying the rent on this flat, you really can't stop me, can you?" she asks, chuckling.

"I suppose you do have a point. And if I'm being honest, I'll worry about you less knowing you aren't alone there."

"You're such a cop," she rolls her eyes.

"Love you, Gwen. Keep me posted on how Arthur's paintings are doing."

"You are also completely transparent," Gwen laughs, knowing he is not so much interested in his art but in her future well-being. "And I think you had already left before the really good stuff happened…"


	39. Chapter 39

"Arthur," Gwen lifts her head from her reading, finally deciding to voice the thought that's been rambling around her head since she got home from church.

"Hmm?" he asks, busily painting her toenails on the other end of the sofa. They actually are listening to one of Gwen's albums, Miles Davis' _Birth of the Cool._

"I don't think your father came to your opening for no reason."

He lifts his head and looks at her.

"I think he was trying to reach out."

"By coming to my opening and _not_ talking to me? Yes, that was definitely a huge fucking olive branch," he says sarcastically.

"He did buy a painting. A painting that only had real meaning to the two of you. No one else knew about it before you told me."

"So?"

" _So…_ " she hesitates, knowing that this is a delicate subject, "I think you need to be the bigger man. Because apparently he isn't able to be."

"Why do you think I need to bother at all?"

"Because he is your father, isn't that reason enough?"

"It would be if he had ever acted like a father."

She sighs. _I knew this wouldn't be easy._ "Arthur, I think you should try to forgive him. Not for him, but for you."

He presses his lips together, placing the nail polish brush back in its bottle and closing it. "For me?"

"Yes. I wish you had felt well enough to come to church with me this morning. The message today was about forgiveness. Holding on to hurts like that isn't good for you. Emotionally. Spiritually."

"Spiritually?"

"Yes. Don't make that face, I'm serious. The reverend says that God doesn't want us to hold onto our hurts. We need to let them go. Give them to Him. I'm inclined to agree."

He says nothing for several minutes, battling with his thoughts; logic warring with emotion. "I put him behind me for a reason," he says curtly.

"I know. But it's still with you. The pain is still there," she answers quietly.

He stands up, walking to the kitchen, removing himself before he loses his temper. _The last thing I want to do is yell at her._ She hears him reach into one of his jars for some candy.

She waits, chewing at her lips nervously. _He's not yelling. I don't know if that's good or bad._

He sneezes, then curses.

"Bless you," she calls. He grunts a reply and she hears him running water.

She gets up to investigate, walking over to see him wiping down the counter, which has been splattered with little red bits of licorice.

Gwen walks over and gently takes the dishrag from him, cleaning the counter. Arthur sits at the table.

"I always said that I would speak with him if he reached out. I was not going to be the one to make the first move," he finally says.

Gwen puts the kettle on to make them some tea. "His buying the painting was his way of reaching out, Arthur."

"Yeah, then why didn't he come _talk_ to me?" he says, his voice harsh. Not angry; hurt.

 _Because he was afraid. Because he didn't want to ruin your big day. Because he is a wounded Alpha just like you._ All these thoughts cross Gwen's mind, but she hesitates to say them.

"Would it have been so hard to come over and say hello? For fuck's sake, I wouldn't have even expected a 'well done' or a 'congratulations' from him. Just a 'hello' would have been _something,_ " he sniffs. Gwen passes him a tissue, then notices he doesn't wipe his nose with it. He wipes his eyes.

She brings down two cups and prepares the loose tea in the tea balls while the water heats. "Perhaps he didn't talk to you because he was afraid," she ventures.

"Pff," he scoffs. "Uther Pendragon does not know fear."

"I think he does," she answers, pouring the water, watching it gradually color as it draws the flavor from the leaves.

Gwen reaches up and instead of sugar she takes the honey down and pours a generous dollop into Arthur's cup and a small bit into her own.

She brings him his cup and sits beside him at the table.

"You seem to have a lot of thoughts, Guinevere," he says, sipping his tea. "Mmm."

"Honey is better for your throat with this cold," she says.

"Tastes really good. So, you, with the thoughts," he sniffs again, this time from the cold, "what do you think I should do, then?"

Gwen sips her tea, thinking. _This is the hard part. What to actually do._ "Well, he'll be expecting his painting to be delivered in a couple weeks."

Arthur looks at her, not sure if he likes where she's going with this.

"You could deliver it."

He looks slightly ill. Slightly _more_ ill.

"We'll even get it framed, a nice ebony frame that will offset the dark tones in the painting. No filigree, nothing fancy."

Arthur stares into his cup, looking for a message in the tea leaf remnants in the bottom of his cup.

"Take the painting over and just see," she says, reaching for his hand. "Not for his benefit, for yours," she reminds him.

"I'll think about it," he finally says, downing the rest of his tea.

 _It wasn't a no,_ she thinks.

"Come on, I need to finish your toes," he suddenly says, standing and taking their cups to the sink.

xXx

"This is Gwen," Gwen answers her phone, glancing at the clock. _10:51. Must be Merlin._

"There is a Merlin Emrys to see you?"

"Thank you Paulette, send him up. And please make sure you tell him where my office is," she says, hanging up before the receptionist can reply.

Three minutes later Merlin's smiling face appears in her doorway. "Hey," he says.

"Hey yourself, come on in," she stands and hugs her friend, kissing his cheek.

"So, this is your new kingdom, hey? Nice. Even a window," he walks over and looks out. "Oh," he says, disappointed when he sees her lousy view.

"You want an office with a real view, then go see Mr. Gaius," she laughs.

Merlin sits.

"So," Gwen starts. "I've looked over this latest draft, and I _think_ we're about ready to send it to typesetting."

"Really?" his bright blue eyes light up with excitement.

"Yes, but this is the difficult part, you know."

"Why is that?" His excitement turns to confusion.

"Because you have to let go now," she smiles at him.

"Oh. Right. It's in someone else's hands now."

"Yes, but very good hands," Gwen reassures him.

They discuss the details a bit more, and Merlin tells her his ideas for a third book after Gwen confesses she's peeked at the second one a bit already.

"I can't believe what you did with Drake and Evie," she gushes. "She yells at him and he _kisses_ her. Just… that's brilliant, Merlin."

"Thanks," he blushes. "He really just wants people to treat him like a person rather than a prince, and she does that."

"Yeah, I understood that. Giving the arrogant prince a heart and soul beneath the bravado. Very good."

"Well, he _is_ based on Drag, you know," Merlin grins.

Gwen laughs. "So. I think we're sorted now. Has Drag given you anything for the cover yet?"

"Not yet, but I intend to hassle him about that as soon as I leave here," he says. "I promised him I'd stop by the gallery. I think he wants to have lunch with me. He was weird this morning."

"He's got something on his mind, maybe he wants to talk to you about it," she says.

"He didn't talk to you about it?"

"Of course he did," Gwen says, _it was my idea._ "But you have known him almost your whole lives, he probably wants your opinion as well. Don't worry about it," she adds, seeing Merlin's concerned face.

"I'll try not to," he stands, and hugs Gwen awkwardly across her desk when she stands as well.

"Oh, Merlin, one more question," Gwen says, just before he turns to exit.

He stops. "Yes?"

"Is your mother available? Like, single?"

His eyebrows rise, then knit together in confusion. "Yes…?"

"My father saw her at the opening. Thought she was lovely."

xXx

"Hey, Lance," Merlin says, greeting the gallery owner as he walks in. "Where's the royal shithead?"

"I'm right _here,_ arse-monkey," Arthur's voice behind him makes him jump.

"That's a new one," Merlin says, chuckling.

"Hello, Merlin," Lance says, laughing at the pair of them. "What's new from the world of soon-to-be-published writers?"

"Book number one is going to typesetting," he says, grinning, "which leads me to the issue of _cover art,_ " he says, looking pointedly at Arthur. "I asked you like a week ago, Drag. Do you have anything?"

Arthur sighs. "Yes, _Mother,_ how does this strike you?" he asks, thrusting his sketchpad at him.

"He only just drew it this morning," Lance mutters.

"Shut up," Arthur shoots back.

"Drag, this is brilliant," Merlin says. "Just needs some color and it'll be perfect." He traces the lines of the ornate griffin Arthur's done, one talon raised, wings spread.

"I remembered you saying that, what's-his-name, Rylan has something with griffins. The one that the king has chained in a cave somewhere, or something. Thought it might be important," he shrugs.

"You have no idea how important," Merlin answers, remembering the climax he thought of for the forthcoming third book.

"So I did good?"

"Drag, I would kiss you, but that would be gross."

"Indeed," Arthur agrees, while Lance laughs. "Plus, I'm not over this cold yet. Oh, and I'll need that back, if you want it to be colored."

Merlin hands him his pad and asks, "So. What did you want to talk to me about?"

Arthur looks at the clock. "It's not too early for lunch," he says. He doesn't want to insult Lance, but neither does he especially want to discuss this in front of him. _Don't know him well enough yet._

"Good. I'm hungry," Merlin says.

"You coming back after?" Lance asks.

"Do you need me to?"

"Up to you," he shrugs.

"Yeah, probably. I don't think Gwaine is expecting me in at all today," he says.

"Good. It gets boring here by myself," Lance chuckles.

"Can we bring you something back?" Merlin asks.

"Sure. Where are you going?"

They look at each other. "I don't know," he answers.

"Just… something at least somewhat healthy," Lance says. "But no mushrooms."

"Extra mushrooms, right," Arthur nods, smirking as they walk out the door.

"This is about your father, isn't it?" Merlin guesses, lifting a large, greasy hamburger to his lips. They opted for manly food, which equals burgers and big, fat chips.

"You saw him at the opening," Arthur says, his tone neutral.

"I did, and I hid so he wouldn't see me," he admits.

"Coward."

"Yep. Did not want to have to be polite."

"Gwen thinks his coming was a sort of tentative olive branch," Arthur says, going on to detail their conversation the day before, even telling him the whole story behind the storm painting.

Merlin listens patiently, a little proud of Arthur for not yelling or even getting terribly cross with Gwen. _Of course, he's only even entertaining the idea because Gwen brought it up. Anyone else would have been summarily dismissed._

"Arthur," Merlin starts, and Arthur already knows he is in trouble. "You know how I feel about your father. I had front-row seats, for crying out loud."

"There's a 'but' coming," Arthur says, leaning back, reaching for a napkin in which to blow his nose.

" _But_ I actually think Gwen is on to something. Perhaps Uther is, oh, I don't know, feeling his mortality or something."

" _What?_ "

"You know, getting old, realizing that he is not, in fact, going to live forever. Realizing that there may be more to life than cash."

"Doubtful."

He sighs. "Okay, maybe not. But I think she's right. I think it was his attempt to reach out. Kind of a lame attempt, but an attempt nevertheless."

"Wouldn't even talk to me," he mutters, pulverizing a chip under his thumb. "Some attempt."

"Damn it, Arthur, why are you so _fucking_ stubborn all the damn time?" Merlin snaps.

"What?" Arthur's head shoots up.

"Look. Much as I hate to say it, much as you hate to hear it, you are very like him in a lot of ways. Not the least of which is the fact that you're both completely pigheaded. _One_ of you has to bend at some point. _One_ of you has to be strong enough to man the fuck up and make the first move. Uther took a stab, but clearly he doesn't have it in him to do it properly. He wants it, but he's too inhibited by his own stupid pride to let his guard down."

Arthur stares, blinking mutely as Merlin scolds him. He's not exactly yelling, but he's not calm either.

"Gwen had said that you need to be the bigger man. She's right. You do. Because you _are._ You're better than him," he says, his voice fading now.

Arthur drinks his Coke, staring down into the glass.

"Deliver the fucking painting," he finishes, standing and tossing his napkin on the table. "I have to take a piss."

xXx

"Excalibur," Gwaine answers the phone the next day.

"Hello, Gwaine? Lance."

"Hey, mate, how are you? Up for another round of drinks and singing?"

"Not any time in the foreseeable future. I learned my lesson," he laughs. "Is Drag there, by chance?"

"Yeah, hang on," Gwaine holds out the phone. "For you, hot shot."

"Hello?"

"Drag, there is a very beautiful woman standing in the gallery _claiming_ to be your sister," Lance informs him.

"And?"

"I'm only asking because no one that good-looking could possibly be related to you," he says. Arthur can hear Morgana's unmistakable cackle in the background as she laughs at Lance's words.

"I'll be there in ten," Arthur says. "Thanks, mate."

"Yeah."

"Gwaine, drive me to the gallery?" Arthur asks.

"Don't you love how he can ask a question and make it sound like a command?" Gwaine asks Phil, who snorts a laugh.

"Where's your bike?"

"Home. I'm living with Guinevere now, so there's no point in driving that pile of shit when I could walk here in the time it takes to get that thing started. Come on. It'll be worth your while…" Arthur cajoles.

"Dazzle me," Gwaine challenges.

"Morgana's there."

"Let me get my keys," Gwaine answers, turning quickly to find his car keys.

"Better hurry, Brother, before Lance charms her away from you," Phil calls, standing and hobbling towards the back on the big boot she now has instead of the cast.

"Pssh," Gwaine blows dismissively. "I don't think I have anything to worry about there."

"Lance is pretty hot," Phil argues, returning with a new box of surgical gloves for her workstation.

"Lance is pretty _gay,_ " Gwaine shoots back.

" _Thank_ you," Arthur chimes in. "Guinevere and I have been arguing about this for weeks."

"He is not gay. Honestly," Phil rolls her eyes, "a man can dress well and be conscious of his grooming and health and still be straight, you wankers."

"All I know is he was getting pretty friendly under that table a few weeks ago," Gwaine says, his found keys dangling from his finger.

"Please," Phil says dismissively. "Get enough drink in you and you'll kiss anything with a set of lips," she says. "Or not, you're not exactly _choosy._ "

Arthur laughs. "She has a point. There was that one time…"

"Leave it," Gwaine says, grabbing Arthur's elbow and ushering him out of the shop.

xXx

"Arthur, this is bloody amazing!" Morgana gushes, hugging him tightly.

"Thanks, Mo. How was Rome?"

"Dreadful. Carlo is _so_ tiresome with his constant, 'Please, Signorina, move to my villa,' and 'Bella Morgana, you should be here in Roma with me.' Ugh. The man is older than Uther," she shudders.

Arthur just laughs, especially when he sees Gwaine glowering behind her. She turns to Gwaine now, pulling him over by grabbing the front of his t-shirt. She runs her hands up his chest and quietly says, "I'm not going back till tomorrow morning."

Gwaine lunges forward and kisses her hungrily, his hand holding the back of her neck. "Good," he says.

Lance gives a puzzled look to Arthur, who makes a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out.

Morgana pulls away, smoothes her hair, and says to Arthur, "So. Show me."

Arthur escorts her around while Gwaine and Lance chat.

"You really like to draw Gwen, hey?" she asks, studying each panel of the collage. "And you drew these while you were suffering from temporary stupidity?"

"Yes, and yes," he says, watching with amusement while his sister checks out his girlfriend's rear end in the drawing.

"Nice little body on her," she observes, ready to move on, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the various things, smiling at the painting of Arthur and Merlin, squealing at the lake painting, remembering that trip and the really cute university student she hooked up with that week, and stopping in front of the storm painting.

Behind them they hear Lance's voice exclaim, "How on God's green earth can they be _twins?_ "

"I remember this storm," she says. "He stood out on the porch of the summer home while we were under the table, hiding," she smiles.

"He bought this one," Arthur says.

"He who?" she turns.

"He who do you think, Einstein?"

"So he did come, then."

"Yes, he did come," he says, giving her a look that tells her that he knows that she sent Uther a flyer.

"How was he?"

"I wouldn't know," he says bitterly. "He managed to avoid me. I was busy with Gwaine and Annis Caerleon and he slipped in, bought the painting, and left."

"Oh."

"Guinevere talked with him, but she didn't know it was him until after he left. Merlin saw him and told her who he was."

"I was hoping he'd at least have said hello," she says sadly.

"Nope."

"I tried. Sorry."

"Yeah, well, stop trying, okay?"

"You know I won't."

"I know," he says, taking her hand. "And thanks," he adds quietly.

"For what."

"For not giving up on the two of us stubborn idiots."

"What are you on about, Arthur?"

"Nothing. It's just making me think."

"Good," she says, pulling him to the next section. "Not for sale, huh?"

"Nope. That one is mine."

"It's gorgeous," she says, then looks sideways at him. "You two had just had sex before you painted this, didn't you?"

It was more of an accusation than a question.

"Kind of. It was actually right after you had called and I first told her about you," he says.

"But _before_ I called you two were doing naughty things."

"Perhaps. Look, here's one of you," he steers her over to the painting he did of her. Her raven hair is blowing in the breeze, the sun on her porcelain skin, and a faraway look in her eyes.

"I didn't know you did one of me!" She hugs him again. "It's wonderful, Arthur."

"I wonder who bought it?" Arthur asks, noticing the red sticker on the placard.

"Hey Lance, who bought this one?" he calls back.

"Um, let me check," he says, going behind the desk and pulling out a folder that seems to be growing thicker by the day.

Gwaine wanders idly, coming around to get a good look at some of the choicer panels in the collage.

"When was this?"

"Um, football game, I think. I turned to say something to you and the wind picked up. The bloke behind you was not happy, I recall. He ended up with a face full of hair."

She smiles, fully aware of his photographic brain. "That was… like four years ago, right?"

"Something like that. You know how things stick with me. That image of the storm was in my head for fifteen years before I painted it," he shrugs, as if it is no big deal.

"Gwaine," Lance's voice, a surprised gasp, floats out from the back of the gallery.

Gwaine ignores him, still casually perusing the art.

"What?" Arthur says, looking back at Lance.

"Gwaine bought the painting of Morgana," Lance clarifies.

Morgana looks over at Gwaine, mouth agape.

Gwaine just grins and shrugs. "I do love you, you know," is all he says.


	40. Chapter 40

"Feeling better, Love?" Gwen asks that night while they eat dinner.

"Quite a bit, actually. Should be right as rain by the end of the week," he says.

"Do you want to go over to your place after dinner and bring some more things over?"

"Yeah, okay," he says. "I need the rest of my clothes, definitely. And my records."

Their conversations since Sunday have been somewhat stilted. She really wants to ask if he's given any more thought to her suggestion about the painting and his father, but she doesn't want to push. She knows him well enough by now to know that he needs to be left alone to make his decision and if she pushes, he'll retreat.

 _Though I'm dying to know what Merlin said,_ she thinks. She picks up the meat fork. "More roast?"

"Yes, please," he lifts his plate and she places another slice of roast beef onto his plate, over which he ladles some gravy from the pan. "You are a really good cook, Guinevere," he tells her.

"Thank you," she smiles, wondering if he is going to tell her this at every meal she cooks for him.

"Morgana was here today," he says, "she came to the gallery."

"Oh, I'm sorry I missed her," she says, genuinely disappointed.

"Well, she's still in town. Not going back up till tomorrow. So naturally she's over at Gwaine's tonight."

"No usual look of disgust?" she asks, noting that he doesn't seem to mind anymore that his sister is sleeping with Gwaine.

"Well, it was an interesting day," he says. "Turns out Gwaine actually loves her."

"What?"

"We found out that _he_ bought her portrait."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and while we were staring aghast at him, he just casually announced that he was in love with her, as if it were obvious."

"What did Morgana do?"

"She completely melted, of course. Lance and I almost had to turn a hose on them."

Gwen laughs, but she is genuinely happy for them.

"Good thing Merlin stays over at Freya's most of the time now, anyway, now that he and Phil have traded flats."

"Goodness, everyone is moving around, aren't they?" Gwen smiles. Phil and Merlin finally gave up over the weekend, hauling things back and forth across the hall, her stuff in with Leon, Merlin's in with Gwaine.

"Merlin's things are still probably all in their boxes," Arthur laughs. "Except for his typewriter."

"It's good. I'm glad everyone is pairing off," she smiles.

"Except Ox, poor chap. And Lance," Arthur grins again. "Gwaine agrees with me, by the way."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, but Phil agrees with you," he scowls.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Ox," Gwen says. "Dad tells me there is a young lady at the station that has been making eyes at him. She's one of the emergency operators. You know, answers the 999 calls?"

"Oh really?"

"Don't know her name or anything – yet – but Daddy says that Ox turns bright red whenever he sees her. So it's really only a matter of time."

xXx

Back at Arthur's, they fill a laundry basket with his clothes. Gwen sorts through them mercilessly, throwing away socks that have holes and t-shirts with more stains than print.

"I can still use those for painting in, you know," he protests.

"They look like you've been using those for painting _with._ "

"Perhaps I have," he says waggling his eyebrows at her.

Gwen opens another drawer. "Lord have mercy, the man owns pants!" she declares, holding up a pair of boxers.

"Told you I had some," he calls from the bathroom, where he is gathering toiletries. "I just don't bother wearing them most of the time."

" _Most_ of the time?"

"I'll wear them if it's really cold out. Metal zippers, you know."

Gwen pulls them out, folding them before placing them in the basket, since they were just in a jumbled pile.

"What on earth?" she says, pulling out a pair of men's bikini briefs, red, with flames all over. "Um, Arthur?"

He walks back into the bedroom, and sees her holding the red flame underwear.

"Something I should know about?" she asks, dangling them from her finger, letting them swing back and forth.

"Um. Yeah. Those. They were… a gift. Yeah, a gift."

"A gift? Ex-girlfriend?"

"Mmmmaybe…" he says, advancing towards her now.

She steps back, away from him. "Why so shy, Arthur? Embarrassed? Have I found the one thing that embarrasses you?" she teases.

"Give me those!" he lunges and reaches, but she is ready for him, ducking and laughing.

"Come on, I want to toss them…" he says, trying to nab them from her hand.

"Nuh-uh," she says, still laughing, bounding across his bed now. "I gotta see these on you first."

"Not for a million pounds," he says, intercepting her and grabbing her around the waist. "Gotcha."

She squeals, roaring with laughter as his hand closes over hers, his long fingers easily engulfing her hand.

Gwen's grip is solid, though, and he is surprised to find that he is unable to wrench the knickers from her hand.

"Guinevere," he purrs, leaning over to speak low in her ear.

"Nope," she stubbornly says, ignoring the sensations distracting her now. His arm around her waist and his voice in her ear are doing their job, just as effectively as her soft curves pressed against him, though, and a moment later Gwen finds herself beneath him on the bed, his lips on her neck.

"Oh, God," she moans as his hand that was around her waist finds her breast, squeezing.

"You don't have a bra on," he mutters against her skin, sliding his hand down and back up, beneath her t-shirt now. He strokes her nipple with his thumb, teasing it stiff while he plunders her mouth with his own.

Sufficiently distracted, she allows him to pull the underwear out of her hand. He throws it carelessly to the side, busy with other things now.

Gwen slips her own hands under the hem of his shirt, running her hands over the skin of his stomach, his chest, his back, as she works his shirt up and off.

He follows suit, pulling her shirt off as well, leaning back to place both hands over her breasts, gazing down at her as he caresses them lovingly.

"I'll deliver the painting," he suddenly says, his face soft and unguarded, an expression only she gets to see.

"That's great, Arthur, but… why are you telling me this now, exactly?" she says, reaching up to his face.

"I have no idea," he answers, then moves his hands to the button at the waist of her jeans, opening them and pulling them and her panties off all at once.

Gwen scoots further onto the bed, glad that they hadn't taken the sheets off yet. _Not that_ _i_ _t would have stopped us,_ she thinks, watching as Arthur removes his own jeans before joining her on the bed, lying next to her.

Arthur drops his head to a breast, latching on to it, teasing it with his tongue. His hand delves below, fingers slipping between her legs, drawing a sigh from her lips.

She reaches for him, blindly groping until she finds him, firm and warm and perfect. She wraps her fingers around him and slides her hand, stroking him.

He kisses up her neck to her ear, nibbling the tender flesh there, his hot breath caressing her as well.

"God, I want you," he growls, then turns her on her side, her back to him.

"What are you…" she exclaims, but he wraps one arm around her waist, his other cradling her head, pulling her close against him.

He takes her thigh in his hand and lifts it slightly and she reaches down and helps him slide into her from behind.

Gwen sighs as his girth fills her, completes her, makes her whole. He slowly slides back, then pushes forward, and she groans.

Arthur's hand slips down between her legs again, rubbing small circles, adding to her pleasure.

"Arthur," she breathes his name, leaning forward slightly to improve the angle, turning her face against his hand that she is leaning against.

He continues moving, thrusting and touching, whispering soft words that she can only just barely hear.

"Oh," she whimpers, capturing his index finger lightly with her teeth, nibbling it, sucking on it as he drives into her.

Her lips and tongue teasing his finger as he moves within her makes him groan and his eyes roll back in his head, and he thrusts harder, faster.

"Yes," he mutters his approval, curling his fingers against her face. She moves to his middle finger now, kissing it, biting lightly. He growls and thrusts again, his other hand still stroking her.

Gwen is adrift in a flood of sensation, her soft cries slightly muffled by his hand, but he hears them all the same, a small smile playing about his lips as he again lets his eyes drift closed, ghosting his lips on her shoulder blade, her neck, as he rides the wave with her. He feels her sink her teeth into his finger and whimper loudly as she comes, slamming her hand over his to make his fingers stop.

Arthur comes at almost the exact same time, wrapping his now-free hand tightly around her waist and burying his face into her neck.

He sighs heavily, then sniffles once.

"Don't snot on my hair, please," Gwen mumbles, reaching back to caress his face.

He laughs and slides out of her, turning her back towards him so he can kiss her.

"I love you," he says, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too," she answers, kissing him again. "And I still want to see you in those pants." She smirks at him now.

"Just once," he reluctantly says, kissing her back. "Since I'm already naked and all. But then they go in the bin."

xXx

"So _this_ is where you live?" Annis asks the following week, stepping gingerly into Arthur's basement flat.

"In the process of moving out, actually," he says.

"Oh? Shacking up with your little muse?" she asks, smirking.

"Yep. You're actually lucky I am moving out, else you might have been accosted by my cat."

"Accosted?" Lance asks, looking around, distracted by the walls.

"He's a bit unpredictable. And very opinionated," Arthur attempts to explain.

"So, a normal cat then," Annis says simply.

"Yeah," Arthur laughs. "He actually likes Guinevere better than he likes me."

"We all feel that way, mate," Lance teases.

"Shut up," Arthur says, still laughing. "Okay, so, this is what I have left," he goes to the closet while Annis joins Lance looking at the murals.

"Drag, what will become of these walls when you move?" Annis asks, walking over to the hall where Arthur is lining up the few remaining paintings.

"I have to paint them back to white," he answers, digging out the sketchpads and the rest of the drawings of Guinevere.

"Oh, that is not going to be happening," she declares, striding outside. She returns a moment later, the _For Rent_ sign in her hand.

"Is your phone still working?"

"Yeah, haven't cancelled it yet."

"Good," she lifts the phone and dials the number on the sign.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asks.

"I'm renting your flat," she says. "Hello, I'm calling about the flat you have to let? The basement one?"

Arthur and Lance just stare.

"Yes. How much is the rent?" She smiles at the two men. "Very good,” she responds, then falls quiet for a moment. "No, that won't be necessary, I'm standing in it right now." Her brow furrows. "No, he won't. He is not to touch these walls and neither are you… Yes, I can." She winks at Arthur and then says, "No, I most certainly am not intending to live here. I am renting it for Mr. Pendragon and he will continue to use it as a studio space to do his painting… I don't care. And as long as you get paid, neither should you." Her face turns calmly triumphant. "Very good. I shall be up presently to do the necessary paperwork."

She hangs up the phone.

Arthur is dumbstruck. Humbled. Shocked. "Th… thank you, Annis," is all he can think to say.

"Wow," Lance echoes.

"Nothing at all," she waves her hand dismissively. "An artist needs his space to do his work. I daresay poor Gwen has probably been wondering where she is going to find the space for all your art supplies anyway."

"Well, she hasn't _said_ anything…" Arthur says, rubbing his hand on the side of his head.

"Of course she hasn't. But she's been thinking about it," Annis says decisively. "Now. Let's see what else you have here."

"Shouldn't you go up and see Mr. Jarvis?" Arthur asks.

"He can wait," she says, completely unconcerned.

"I want to be like you when I grow up," Arthur says, still awestruck by her presence and all that she's doing for him.

She laughs and turns her attention to the paintings. "Interesting, interesting. Is this your cat?"

"When he was a kitten. That one was just a lark, really," he says, grinning.

"What's his name?"

"Iggy."

"After the musician, I presume," she states, surprising both men with the fact that she knows this.

"Um, yeah…" Arthur says, chuckling.

"Why weren't these two in the show?" Annis asks.

"Ah. Um, those aren't really meant for the public."

Lance hangs back, listening. He's seen the paintings, but he is still very curious about Arthur's strange relationship with his father.

"Your mother?" Annis asks, stooping to study the lovely blonde by the lilac bushes.

"Yes," he says.

"You look just like her," she states. "What happened to her was a tragedy."

"Thank you, I know," Arthur answers quietly.

"Does it bother you to speak of it?"

"A bit. Mainly because I just wish that I could have at least known her a little," he admits, surprised that he is able to be so open with her.

"I understand," she says, standing and moving close to him, taking his hand in hers. "I lost a child once. Died within hours of being born."

"I'm so sorry," Arthur says.

"I imagine it is much the same feeling. Always wondering, feeling helpless."

He nods.

She pats his hand, turns to the next painting, and the spell is broken. "And this one?"

"That's Uther."

"Indeed," she raises her eyebrows. "He looks very sad. You were able to capture his grief spectacularly even though we cannot see his face."

"Thank you. Guinevere said the same thing."

"Was this shortly after your mother died?"

"No, ten years later. That one," he points to the painting of his mother, "I painted from a photo. This one I painted from my own memory. Our tenth birthdays, mine and my sister's, and the tenth anniversary of her death."

"Hmm," Annis looks at it.

"Our birthday parties were a riot growing up," he says sarcastically. Lance snorts.

"Well, both paintings are fabulous, but I understand. You painted these for you, not for anyone else."

He nods. "Sketchpads, and more Guinevere drawings," he says, picking them up and carrying them to the table.

Annis smiles, following. "You always call her Guinevere," she observes.

"I prefer it, yes."

"I can tell by the way you say it, my boy," she offhandedly says, paging through the stack of sketches.

xXx

"You'll never guess, Sweet," Arthur is waiting for her at home, jumping around like an excited little boy.

"What?" she drops her purse and crosses to him, where he picks her up and spins her.

"Arthur! What is going on?"

"I met with Annis today," he says. "We went over to my old flat so I could show her the rest of my works, and she decided that _she_ is going to rent the flat for me so I can use it as studio space!"

"Arthur, that's wonderful! Amazing!" she jumps back into his arms, squeezing him.

"I know. She saw all the painting on the walls and said that she couldn't allow me to paint over it and destroy it."

"Wow," Gwen says.

"I have my own _studio,_ Guinevere!"

"I—"

He cuts her words off with his lips, crashing down over them, kissing her unreservedly in his joy.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he asks, once they come up for air.

"I don't have to try and make room for all that shit here?" she asks, grinning at him.

He laughs, "No. Well, yes, but no. This means we need to go celebrate."

"Pub?" she asks.

"No. A proper restaurant. Let me put on a decent shirt and we'll go."

 _I cannot wait to tell my father,_ Gwen thinks, finding that she is getting some slight enjoyment out of proving him wrong.

"She loved all the sketches, too," Arthur tells her over dinner, winding spaghetti around his fork.

"Of course she did," Gwen says, finding that she isn't troubled by Annis viewing _all_ the sketches.

"She had an interesting idea for a painting from them," he says. "She chose three of the drawings and placed them side by side. Told me I should paint all three on one wide canvas, side by side as a set. A triptych."

"Which ones?" Gwen says.

"I'll have to show you. Oh my God, I completely forgot," he digs into his pocket and gives her a key. "For you."

"Thank you," she says, a little puzzled.

"Just in case. I want you to have access to my _studio,_ " he grins, clearly enjoying saying it. _I want you to have access to everything I have,_ he thinks, but holds his thought inside.

"Thank you," she says again, tucking it into her purse.

"Oh, and you know what else?" he says.

"There's _more?_ "

"Annis told my landlord that if he ever wished to sell the building, she might be interested in buying it."

"Really? How much money does that woman have, anyway?"

"I'm beginning to think that her wealth rivals my father's," he says, chuckling.

xXx

Gwen enters the gallery on Friday, taking her lunch hour to stop in.

"Oui… oui… non…" Lance is talking to someone on the phone, his face clouded.

Gwen walks slowly up and he waves at her. "Je suis vraiment désolé. Oui. Merci."

He hangs up the phone and sighs. "My mother," he says simply.

Gwen knows he wasn't talking _to_ his mother, but about her. "Is something wrong?"

"She's apparently forgotten that she speaks French."

"Well, you said that she thinks she's seven. She wouldn't have known French then, would she?"

"No, but it's making things difficult for the staff at the hospital. They only have a couple people that speak Spanish."

"Will you have to move her?"

"I hope not. But I'll have to go down there soon and see what I can do."

"Sorry," Gwen says, reaching over to hug him.

"Thank you," he says, then shakes his head slightly, as if physically clearing his mind. "So, to what do I owe the honor of your presence in the middle of the day, my lady?"

"I want to take this one early," she points to the storm painting.

"How come?"

"I want to have it framed before delivery."

"Um… okay…"

"Arthur's going to deliver it to his father himself. It's… a touchy situation," she says, biting her lip.

"I'm learning that. You don't have to tell me," he says. "It's not my business."

"Wasn't going to," she says, smirking. "Not my story to tell, sorry. All I'll say is that we were all surprised he came and shocked that he bought. They haven't spoken in several years."

"Ah. So you think his coming and buying was a way of…"

"Reaching out, yes. So Arthur is going to make the next move and see where it goes."

"That must have been what he wanted to discuss with Merlin on Monday," he guesses.

"Probably. So can I have it?"

"What, now?"

"Lance, darling, I'm on my lunch hour and the framer's isn't open tomorrow. I want to make sure that it gets done in time."

"Fine," he sighs, stepping over to take it down for her.

He wraps it in heavy brown paper for her and carries it to her car.

"Thank you," she says, climbing in and driving off.

xXx

"Back again, I see," the man behind the counter at the framer's says when she enters.

"Yes, hello, I've got one more for you," she says, lugging the painting in and setting it on the counter.

"Let's see it, then," he says, unwrapping it. "Is this the same artist?"

"Yes, he just had his first gallery opening last week at Galerie Etienne."

"Oh, _that_ guy. I saw the flyers. Wasn't able to make it, unfortunately."

"His paintings are still up, you should stop over. They'll be up for another week."

"Why is this one here, then?"

"I'm having it framed for the buyer."

"Oh, right, obviously," he chuckles. "This is brilliant. A dark frame, I think?"

"Yes. Black, or close to."

"You have an eye, young lady."

"Thank you."

"So how is it that you had two paintings of his _before_ his big opening?" the framer asks, curious, as he pulls a few samples from the shelves behind him.

"He's my boyfriend," Gwen says. "So I get perks."

He laughs and brings the sample pieces over, holding them up next to the canvas.

"This one," she points, immediately knowing which one is correct.

"You _do_ have an eye. Are you in the art field?"

"No. Publishing, actually," she smiles. "When will this be ready?"

"Hmm…" he checks the log. "Wednesday do for you?" He passes her a slip to fill out so she can claim it later.

"That will be fine, thank you." She fishes into her purse for a card from the gallery. "Here," she hands it to him. "His show closes a week from today."

"Thank you," he takes the card and places it in the pocket of his leather apron.


	41. Chapter 41

Arthur stands on the front porch of Pendragon manor, the painting held carefully in his hand, resting on his boot.

_Why did I let them talk me into this?_

Taking a deep breath, he presses the doorbell.

_Run. Run now. Go. Run!_

The door opens and Arthur is face to face with Joseph, his father's butler.

"Joseph," Arthur nods at him, his face carefully calm.

"Oh. Mister Arthur. Is… is Master expecting you?" His years of faithful service to Uther Pendragon has taught him how to carefully school his facial expressions so that they betray nothing of what he is actually thinking.

"He's expecting a delivery," Arthur indicates the painting.

Joseph bends slightly and peers at it. "Excellent brushwork, Mister Arthur," he comments, immediately and inexplicably knowing that it is Arthur's work.

"Thank you."

The butler steps aside. "Please, come in. I will fetch the Master."

Arthur walks in, the familiar sights and smells of his boyhood home washing over him. _How many times did I fall down those stairs?_ he thinks, looking up at the grand staircase in the foyer. Joseph leads him to the sitting room, where Arthur does just that. He sits.

A few minutes later, Uther strides into the sitting room, stopping cold when he sees that Arthur has delivered the painting personally.

"Father," Arthur says coolly, not standing.

"Arthur," Uther replies with equal distance.

"Thank you for buying my painting."

"I see you had it framed. I did not ask for it to be framed."

Arthur sighs. "Gee, you're welcome," he rolls his eyes. _Nothing is ever right._

"It is a good frame."

"It was Guinevere's idea."

"Guinevere? Is that her name?"

"Yes."

"And was you delivering this painting yourself also her idea?" he asks. He hasn't moved from his place in the doorway.

"Hers and Merlin's."

"Mmm."

Neither speaks for a moment. Then Uther breaks the silence. "She is lovely."

"Yes, she is."

"She works for Will Gaius, I understand?"

"Who told you…? Morgana," Arthur answers his own question.

Uther nods. "She's been pushing again."

"She sent you the flyer. For the opening."

Uther nods again.

"Thank you for coming. Why didn't…" he starts to ask.

"Why didn't I talk to you? I… I don't know. I couldn't. I only came because I had to see for myself. See if you were indeed any good. See if you do truly still look like…" he gestures toward Arthur, waving his hand up and down, " _that._ "

"Father, if you had bothered to actually pay attention to me while I was growing up, you would already know how good I am," Arthur says crossly. "You came out of morbid curiosity. You came because now that I've had a glimmer of success, suddenly I might be good enough to be your son again. You wanted to see if I was worthy of you yet," he adds, somewhat sadly. He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't stand.

"Perhaps," he admits slowly.

"You know I'm right."

Uther sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "What is it you want from me, Arthur?"

Arthur stands now. "I want you to accept me for who I am, even though who I am is not who you wanted me to be. I want you to _respect_ me for making my own choices rather than condemning me for it."

With that, Arthur strides from the room, brushing past his father, leaving the painting leaning against the side of the settee.

"Arthur," Uther says. Arthur is in the foyer, halfway to the front door. He stops, but does not turn.

"What?"

"Do you love her? Guinevere?"

"More than anything," he says, turning slightly so that his father can see his serious expression.

"Take care of her."

Arthur turns and walks out the door, striding purposefully toward Gwen's Mini. "Since when are you qualified to dispense fatherly advice?" he mutters to himself, slamming the door.

Uther stands in the window watching his son peel away in the small green car. _I thought he had a motorcycle. All the reports I've gotten on him state that he is only ever seen driving a temperamental motorcycle. Or as a passenger in Merlin's rather unstable Ford Popular. Must be Guinevere's car._

Turning back, he walks over and picks up the painting, studying it again. _I remember this storm like it happened yesterday. It was massive. I had to carry them to their beds from where they were hiding under the table._

_He really does have talent. But he's right. If he were talentless I probably wouldn't care. And what of the girl? There is something very special about her. What is it that she sees, that everyone else sees, that I don't?_

_This is a beautiful frame. She has excellent taste._

xXx

"How did it go?" Gwen asks when Arthur returns home.

"About how I expected," he says, which tells her nothing.

"Care to elaborate?"

He sighs. _Not really._ "I said my piece. Told him what was on my mind. Felt good to get it off my chest." He goes on to detail their conversation, even telling her that Uther asked after her.

"It is a step in the right direction," Gwen says, noting that Arthur doesn't seem to have forgiven anything.

"A step?"

"Arthur, don't get angry with me, but yes, a _step._ I'm happy that you were able to voice your thoughts to him. To get him to start owning up to his behavior."

"But?"

"But you haven't forgiven him yet."

"I don't think I'm ready yet, Guinevere."

Gwen breathes a sigh of relief. _The fact that he's still discussing this with me calmly is a very good thing._

"I understand," she says. "Come here," she calls to him, reaching her hand out to him from her place on the sofa.

He crosses to her and sits, and she pulls him gently against her, wrapping him in her arms.

"I'm trying not to push," she says. "I love you, Arthur, and if you are hurting, even a little, even if it's buried deep, I feel that hurt as well. If you and your father are truly not meant to reconcile, so be it. But please do not let it be because you didn't try."

"It's annoying, how smart you are," he says, closing his eyes, treasuring the feel of her arms around him, her fingertips trailing on his scalp.

"It is a curse," she says, smiling, leaning down to kiss his head. "Don't give up yet."

"The next move is his," Arthur declares.

 _We'll see,_ Gwen thinks, squeezing him.

xXx

Saturday morning, Arthur and Gwen head to the gallery. The show is over, some paintings have been delivered, and the rest are being taken down in preparation for delivery.

"So sad," Gwen says, looking around.

"Yes, but you get paid, so that is not so sad," Annis' voice behind her makes her jump.

"Annis, how lovely to see you," Gwen says, smiling as the older woman steps over to embrace her, kissing both her cheeks.

"Gwen, I'm happy to see you, too," Annis says.

"Thank you for everything you're doing for Arthur," Gwen says.

"It's nothing," she waves her off.

"It's everything. You have no idea how much he appreciates it," she says.

"He can speak, you know," Arthur chimes in, stepping over to hug Annis.

"Hello, darling," Annis greets him. "Have you started the triptych yet?"

"Laying it out, yes," he says dutifully.

"Good boy," she pats his shoulder, then strides back to Lance. "Lancelot, my pet, my truck will be arriving presently. Are all my things ready to go?"

"Of course they are, Annis," Lance chuckles, pointing to a stack of paintings leaning against a wall to one side.

"We need to wrap this one up to take home," Arthur says, wandering over to his favorite piece.

"Yes, yes, your precious painting will make it safely home with you," Lance rolls his eyes.

"Come to Papa," Arthur says, reaching up and taking it down from the wall.

"He is insane," Gwen says to Annis.

"He is in love," Annis replies, and Gwen blushes.

"Come, let's find out how much Lance and Arthur have made," Annis says, looping her arm through Gwen's and walking her back to the desk. "All right, you know I love my art, Lance, but this is the fun part," she says, her eyes twinkling.

"I don't understand why this is so fun for _you,_ Annis. About half of this came from your accounts," Lance says.

"I know, but I just love seeing the look on a new young artist's face when he sees his check from his first successful show," she grins. "And our Drag has such an expressive face that I doubt I will be disappointed."

"You noticed that, huh?" Gwen asks, amused.

"How can one not notice?" Annis chuckles. "He's positively adorable."

Gwen guffaws. "Don't let him hear you say that!"

"Why ever not?"

"He hates being called anything remotely close to 'cute.' Even though he completely is," Gwen says, smiling over at him, still talking to his painting as he wraps the thick brown paper around it.

"I am certain he allows you that privilege," Annis says, arching an eyebrow at Gwen.

"Reluctantly," Gwen smirks. "Arthur, when you're done making love to your painting, perhaps you'd care to join us?" she calls.

"Huh?" Arthur's head snaps up, Gwen's voice drawing him back to reality. "Oh. Right." He leans the painting on the wall, ponders it a moment, then reaches for a marker. He writes the word "mine" across the paper before turning back to join them.

"Arthur, really," Gwen says, tilting her head at him.

"Well, they all look the same now. I had to do something to identify it," he defends his actions.

"Yes, but 'mine?' Are you four years old?"

"You'd better hope not," he mutters close in her ear and kisses her neck.

"All right, you two, I still have images of Gwaine and Morgana's makeout session scarring my brain, don't add to my misery," Lance complains, unceremoniously thrusting a check at Arthur.

Annis is not disappointed. Arthur gapes. He positively gapes. Blue-grey eyes huge, jaw on the floor.

"So, then, I need to give you your ten percent from this, right?" he asks, apparently unable to believe the amount is all for him.

"No, mate, that's all yours. My cut is already subtracted, look," Lance leans over and points to some numbers on the top half of the check. " _That_ is the full total, there. My percentage, tax and all that legal shit, and the rest is yours," he moves his finger down the rows as he talks.

"Holy fuck," Arthur whispers. "Oh, sorry," he looks up and apologizes to Annis.

She just smiles, quite satisfied in her new investment, her new protégé. "And that's not even the best part," she says, looking at Lance.

"What? There's a best part? Bester than this?" he waves the check in the air, passing it to Gwen, who gasps.

"You have _two_ commissions, Drag," Lance says.

"What? _Two?_ Who from?" Arthur sputters, digging into his pocket for a lemon drop, needing his candy immediately.

"Damn, I'm out…" he mutters, and Gwen digs into her purse, handing him one from a little plastic baggie she has inside.

"I love you," he says, taking the candy.

"Well, the first came from none other than William Gaius," Lance says, looking at Gwen.

"Really? Bloody hell!" Gwen exclaims, shocked.

"And the second is from Sunshine Childcare Center," he finishes, still looking at Gwen.

"The people who bought the painting of little Arthur and Merlin?" Gwen says. "Arthur, you remember, I told you about that. When you were sick. The creepy guy and the nice woman?"

"Yes, but a childcare center?" Arthur asks.

"Do you dislike children?" Lance asks, glancing at Gwen.

"No, I love them, I'm just surprised. What could they possibly want?"

"Art, darling," Annis says, chuckling.

Lance and Gwen laugh, but Arthur just sighs. "You _know_ what I mean."

"You'll have to go and find out. Here," he hands Arthur a card. "Call them Monday. Ask for Sharon." He points to a name written on the back. "And Mr. Gaius is expecting a call from you as well."

xXx

"Alison was nice," Gwen says to Arthur as they enter their flat, just home from the pub. Ox had finally gotten up the courage to ask the young lady out, and he brought her to the pub after their date.

"Yes, Ox seems quite smitten," Arthur says, cursing as he nearly trips over Iggy as he bounds towards Gwen, meowing and rubbing against her legs.

"Hello, Baby," she coos at the cat, reaching down to stroke his ears. "Come, Mummy bought you some new treats," she adds, heading for the kitchen while Arthur stares after them.

_Mummy?_

"What?" Gwen says, seeing his face as she emerges from the kitchen, a few morsels in her hand, Iggy at her feet, looking expectantly up at her.

"Did you just refer to yourself as 'Mummy' to my cat?"

"Yes," she casually says, sitting and patting her lap. Iggy hops up and Gwen feeds him a treat, which he delicately takes from her fingers. "And I believe he is officially _our_ cat, darling."

"More like _your_ cat," he mutters, removing his boots. "What are those?"

"Freeze-dried chicken livers."

"Yum."

"They're not for _you,_ " she laughs.

Arthur strides through the flat yanking his t-shirt off and yawning as he goes. Gwen hears him groaning and stretching, clearly tired from a very busy day. The toilet flushes. A drawer opens and closes. A moment later he strolls back out in his athletic shorts, comfy as you please.

"All done there?" he asks. Gwen holds her hands up, empty. "Good. Push off, Ig," Arthur says, but he scratches the cat under his chin first before gently nudging him away.

"My hands smell like liver, hang on," Gwen says, standing. Arthur plunks down on the sofa.

She returns, hands washed, and Arthur pulls her down on top of him, kissing her, burrowing his hands into her hair.

"Leon's new bartender seems a good chap," she says, cuddling down against his chest.

"Poof," Arthur declares.

"Honestly, Arthur, what is it with you?" Gwen lifts her head and asks him, incredulous.

"No, honest, he is. Told Leon straight away."

"Oh." She puts her head on his chest. "Doesn't change my opinion."

"Yeah, he's a good guy. Maybe we should set him up with Lance."

She lifts her head again. "Lance is not gay!"

"Until I have conclusive evidence to the contrary, I am standing by my opinion," he says, worming his hand underneath the back of her shirt.

She sighs, weary of this topic, tracing his dragon with her finger. "How much longer are you going to work at Excalibur?" she asks, changing the subject.

"Don't know. I haven't spent a full day there since before the opening. I'm sure Gwaine's already looking for a replacement." His hand is caressing her back beneath her shirt now, his fingers warm and gentle.

"You do have two commissions and an assignment from Annis," she says, grinning against his chest. She turns her face and kisses it.

"I know," he says, "I can hardly believe it. I am very curious about the childcare center one."

"Could be fun, who knows?"

Arthur reaches up and unhooks her bra with one hand.

"Why are we lying out here?" Gwen asks, laughing.

"Good question," Arthur says, and starts to sit up.

"Hey!" Gwen giggles, sliding off before she falls off.

He takes her hand and pulls her back to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed to wait for her while she changes as does whatever mysterious female things she needs to do before bed.

 _I should move a telly in here,_ Arthur thinks. _The one at my flat – my studio – is bigger than hers. We could put that one in the living room and move hers in here._

"What are you plotting over there?" Gwen asks when she returns, wearing a green nightie.

"I want to move your TV back here. Bring mine over for the living room."

"Do you, now?"

"Yeah. 'Cause then we could lie in bed together and watch telly. You know, when we're not… otherwise occupied."

She shrugs. "Sure. Whatever you want."

"Oh. I was expecting more of a discussion," he says, surprised.

"I like cuddling with you on the sofa, but it _is_ a bit narrow," she smiles, sliding beneath the covers.

Arthur had been sitting above, so he quickly joins her beneath the blankets, pulling her over to him.

"Hello," he says quietly.

"Arthur," she says, wanting to ask the question that has been in the back of her brain for a few days now.

"What's on your mind, Love?"

"Would you mind if… if I paid your father a visit?"

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" he asks, confused.

"I'm not sure," she says, furrowing her own brows now. "But maybe, since I'm relatively new to this whole drama, I can bring a fresh perspective to him."

"I don't know…" he says, rolling onto his back, away from her, but he still reaches for her hand, twining their fingers together beneath the covers.

"I just want to try," she says.

"What if he yells at you? He's not a nice man, Guinevere."

"He was nice to me at the opening."

"Because he didn't know who you were."

"I think he did, actually."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I'm sure he saw me sitting on the arm of your chair with your arm wrapped around me, Arthur."

"Hmm."

She leans over and kisses his cheek. "If I try and fail, I will have at least tried."

He looks at her and kisses her lips. "You're going to do it even if I say no, aren't you?"

Gwen leans in and returns his kiss, sliding her tongue between his lips, teasing him briefly. "Probably," she says.

"You are not playing fair," he mutters against her lips, nibbling, his hand wandering now to her thigh, sliding up beneath the hem of her nightie.

"Also probably," she answers, scooting closer to him as she feels his fingers nab the waistband of her knickers.


	42. Chapter 42

"Good morning, Paulette, darling," Arthur greets the receptionist, leaning his elbows on her counter.

"Mr. Pendragon," she coolly greets him. "You have an appointment with Mr. Gaius."

"Yes, I do."

"Wait here," she sighs, "I'm supposed to call him and he'll come down."

"Well, he may want to rethink that, Sugar Plum," Arthur says, thoroughly enjoying needling the stuffy receptionist. "Tell him I have his painting." He then casually walks to the elevator with the painting and Gwen's camera bag and presses the _up_ button as she lifts the phone, scowling.

The doors open and Arthur strolls into Gaius' lobby on the fourth floor.

"Mr. Pendragon?" Gaius' new receptionist says, trying to contain her surprise at his appearance.

"Yes, that's me," he says, then, glancing at her name plate, "Jennifer."

"Um, I'll just tell Mr. Gaius that you're here," she nervously says, pressing the button on the intercom.

"Yes?" the old man's voice emerges from the speaker.

"Mr. Pendragon is here, sir."

"Very good. Send him in."

"Thanks," Arthur says, lifting the painting and striding behind the desk to the door, shifting the camera bag as he goes.

 _Bloody hell, Gwen is lucky. He is really hot,_ Jennifer thinks, suppressing the urge to turn around to get the back view.

Several minutes later, the two men emerge, laughing companionably.

"Jennifer, I'll be giving Drag here a tour. Unless the building is on fire, take a message."

"Yes, sir," she says, watching as they walk to the elevator. _Yep. Very lucky,_ she thinks, finally able to check out the rear.

They emerge back in the main lobby moments later, and Gaius motions to a rather empty wall on one side.

"I want something here," is all he says. "What goes there is up to you, my boy."

"Oh. Um, thanks. I appreciate your trust in me, sir."

"Your work built that, you know. I was very impressed at the show."

"Thank you. I was actually thinking I might try something related to the industry, you know? That's why I brought this camera," he motions to his bag. "In case I saw something that struck me."

"And that's why you wanted a tour," Gaius nods.

"Yes."

"Well. Come on, then," Gaius waves with his cane and heads through a door leading to a white hallway. Then he pushes through a heavy grey door leading to a noisy factory floor.

"So this is our printing facility," Gaius says, shouting over the sounds of the machinery.

"Cool," Arthur says, marveling at the large machines. He watches as reams of paper whiz by, first blank, then printed, then stacking in an amazingly tidy stack at the end.

"You'll like this," Gaius says, leading him over to a large machine that looks like a big metal table. "Watch."

Arthur watches, taking care to stay behind the yellow line on the floor, as a large, neat stack of paper slides into place, stopping against a brace. Then a man presses a button and a huge blade descends, cleanly slicing through the stack, cutting it into two halves.

"Wicked," Arthur says.

"It's a guillotine, basically," Gaius chuckles, leading him on to where some finished books are actually emerging from the end.

"Softcover of Marcus Ryan's last book," he says, making a face. "The hardcover books are bound elsewhere; we don't have the room," he explains. "That's where your friend Merlin's book will be in about a month."

"This is really cool," Arthur says, watching, eyes always searching for something that will speak to him, artistically.

"But nothing worth painting," Gaius says, eyeing Arthur's camera bag pointedly.

"Yeah, nothing's struck me yet, sorry."

"Hmm. Well, let's go this way, then. I have an idea," Gaius heads out a back door, leading to an obviously little-used hallway.

"You're not leading me off to murder me, are you?" Arthur asks, grinning.

"Yes, of course. I have a stiletto hidden inside my cane."

"Thought so."

Gaius reaches another door and fishes a small key ring out of his pocket. He unlocks the door and flips a switch.

The room is dusty, a storage room. A graveyard for obsolete machinery.

"This way," Gaius leads Arthur back to a large mass covered by a drop cloth. "Help me with this, please."

Arthur sets his bag down and reaches up to pull the cloth. Beneath it is an antique printing press, metal and wood, roughly the size of a small car.

"Whoa," Arthur says, reaching for Guinevere's Polaroid now. "This is exactly the kind of thing I was looking for."

He snaps several shots from several angles, even trying to open a high window to improve the light.

Gaius watches while Arthur wanders the storeroom, lifting other cloths and poking around.

"Hello…" he says, sort of to himself, when he pulls open a drawer to find it full of brass letter plates, still shiny and golden colored, in a pile. He takes shots from several angles before closing the drawer.

A few more snaps here and there, and he decides he's done. "Okay. I've got several options now."

"Very good. Shall we go up and see Gwen, then? She has something you might like to see," Gaius says.

 _She always has something I might like to see,_ Arthur thinks, snickering slightly but turning it into a cough, hoping that Gaius doesn't catch his own unintentional innuendo.

The old man turns back to Arthur and raises an amused eyebrow, and they both start laughing.

"Gwen?" Gaius taps on her door several minutes later.

"Mr. Gaius, hello," she says, standing.

"How many times do I have to tell you that you may call me Will, dear?" Gaius asks, chuckling. "Someone to see you," he steps in and Arthur appears behind him in the doorway.

"Hi," he says, smiling and waving.

"Hi, yourself," she answers, smiling back at him.

"Do you have it?" Gaius asks, chuckling at their shyness in his presence.

"Yes," she turns around and produces a large piece of paper. "Arthur, take a look."

Arthur steps over to see the draft of Merlin's cover, his griffin perfectly reproduced in the center, surrounded by a celestial background in blues and purples, flecked with silver.

"Wow…" he says, leaning in closer. "That turned out really good."

"I know. Merlin flipped when he saw it," Gwen says. "And look," she points to a line on the inside flap which reads _Cover art by Drag._

"Oh," he says, but he doesn't sound pleased.

"Something wrong? Would you prefer your proper name? I only used Drag because that's what you used for the show, and…"

"No, no, it's not that. I… I just don't want any credit."

"What?" Gaius asks.

Gwen smiles.

"Merlin is my best friend. Has been my whole life. I did this as a favor to him. For _him,_ not for me."

Gwen takes out her red pen and draws a line, striking the credit from the book jacket.

"There. Gone."

Arthur leans over and kisses her cheek. "Thank you, love."

" _You_ can explain it to Merlin," she says, smirking at him and poking his chest.

xXx

"Hi, Morgana? This is Gwen," Gwen places a call on her lunch, hoping she won't get in trouble for calling Glasgow from the work line.

"Gwen, what a lovely surprise!" Morgana exclaims. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I have a question about Uther," she says, biting her lip.

"Oh?"

Gwen gives her a quick summary of what's been happening, and what her plan is.

"He doesn't work Wednesday afternoons," Morgana tells her. "He used to take the time to play golf, but now is back doesn't allow for it. So he generally stays home and reads."

"Oh? What does he read?" Gwen asks, always curious about this topic.

Morgana laughs now. "He will kill me if I tell you."

"Now I have to know."

"Trashy romance novels, mostly."

"Oh." Gwen is dumbfounded.

xXx

"I should get my motorcycle fixed. You know, now that I've got a bit of money," Arthur says absentmindedly, snuggling in bed with Gwen that night, bathed in the eerie glow of the recently-moved television.

"You should sell it and get yourself a bloody car," Gwen laughs. "If you think I'm driving your arse to your studio this winter before I go to work…"

"Hey!" Arthur protests, poking her in the ribs where she is ticklish. "Anyway, I was planning on dropping _you_ off so that I can go to my studio at my leisure."

"Oh, at your leisure? Do I need to call Annis and let her know your plans?" she looks impishly up at him.

"Don't you dare!"

"We'll talk about it closer to winter. I don't even want to _think_ about winter right now," Gwen says, tucking her head back into his shoulder.

"I want you to come over and see the triptych. It's really going to be interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yeah. I've narrowed the panels so the images are more concentrated. Annis picked some unexpected sketches for me to use, so I'm actually _increasing_ the focus, taking the unusual and amplifying it."

Gwen looks up at him, smiling, enjoying listening to him talk about his work. _He's so passionate about it._

"Which sketches did she choose?"

"Well the center one is your face, but I've narrowed it to just be this region _here,_ " he traces a rectangle on her face containing one eye, her cheek, a tiny bit of her nose, and the corner of her mouth.

"The second is your ankle, and the third, your shoulder."

"My ankle?"

"It's really turning out lovely, honest." He kisses her forehead.

"I'll have to come see it."

"You don't believe me?" he asks.

"Oh, I believe you, I just have to see it."

"That's what I was trying to accomplish!" he laughs.

Gwen laughs. "Oh, yeah." She lifts her face to his, softly kissing him.

"Mmm," he hums contentedly, deepening the kiss, his tongue languidly sliding against hers, wrapping his arms around her.

They get momentarily lost in each other, their hands traveling while they explore each other's mouths.

"Unfair," he mutters against her lips. "Kissing me like that on _this_ week."

"Sorry," she giggles.

"Well, you _could…_ " he ventures.

She leans up on one elbow, a sly look on her face. "Convince me," she challenges. _He's not getting something for nothing, here._

Arthur growls and lunges, claiming her lips with his again, his hand cupping her cheek, leaning over her, pushing her back down onto the pillows.

His tongue delves into her mouth, massaging hers, battling hers, as the hand at her face slides to her breast, squeezing, kneading through the thin cotton of her nightie.

He breaks away for air and moves to her neck, tracing down to her collarbone with his tongue, back up to nibble at the sensitive skin on the side of her neck.

"Arthur," Gwen says softly, "the telly…"

"What about it?" he says, his lips never losing contact with her neck.

"Turn it off… it's distracting."

"Huh? Oh…" he gets up, flips it off, and is back over her in about two seconds.

Gwen giggles at him as he slides the strap of her nightie off her shoulder, chasing it with his lips.

"I love your skin," he mumbles, ghosting his lips across the surface, in from her shoulder towards a breast he is attempting to free.

"I love your lips… and hands… on my skin," she whispers, her hand reaching for him, squeezing his member through his shorts.

He groans as she massages his shaft and takes her breast into his mouth now that he's managed to expose it.

Gwen sighs as he slides his tongue against her nipple, then lightly runs his teeth across it. She tightens her grip on him, stroking still through the slippery nylon of his shorts. He groans again and she feels it as a hum against her skin.

Smiling contentedly, Gwen pushes on his shoulders, moving over him. Arthur releases her breast with a slight _pop,_ and she giggles at the sound as she moves down, pulling the blankets back. She slides his shorts down and off, and she presses her palm against his shaft, rolling it slightly against him.

She looks up and sees him lying on his back, his arms up behind his head, looking rather smug.

"If you're going to be like that, I'm going to stop," she threatens, lifting her hand. He lowers his hands and tries to peel the smile from his face. Or at least rearrange it so he doesn't look like King of the Bed.

She chuckles then and slides down, taking him in her mouth now, holding with one hand while she slips his length in and out.

Her nightie shifted higher when she slid down and Arthur's hand finds her thigh, pulling her lower half closer to him. He reaches up and gives her backside a squeeze before sliding back down her leg, ending with grasping her foot.

"Guinevere," he whispers hoarsely as she works her mouth and tongue against him, around him, driving any thought from his brain apart from her.

She feels his hand on her foot, his fingers rubbing her toes before wrapping around it and pulling it to his mouth.

"Mmm," he hums, kissing her arch, working his way to her toes.

Gwen's hand drifts lower, kneading his balls lightly while she runs her tongue up the length of him, nibbling carefully. Then she plunges his shaft back into her mouth as deep as she can and he releases her toes to cry out, a short grunt.

He slides his tongue around her toes; she sucks tightly, drawing him in, making him weak.

"God… oh…" he is groaning, his voice strained, and Gwen takes him all the way in one last time just before he comes, surging into her, pressing his face against the sole of her foot. Gwen reflexively swallows, then releases him gently. She kisses his stomach, his chest, his neck as she works her way back up to him.

"Wow," he says once she kisses his lips. "That was… wow. I'm glad you were able to be persuaded."

"Yeah, well, now you owe me," she teases, kissing his nose.

"You say that like you think it would be a hardship for me," he laughs, squeezing her.

xXx

Biting her lip nervously, Gwen presses the doorbell. She waits, clutching her umbrella.

The door opens and an older gentleman in a charcoal suit with silver hair and a goatee greets her.

"Yes, may I help you?" he asks, his face betraying none of his thoughts.

"Um, hello. I don't have an appointment or anything, but I was wondering if I might have a word with Mr. Pendragon."

"Name?"

"Guinevere. Tell him I'm from Galerie Etienne."

The butler steps aside to allow her in out of the rain, deftly taking her umbrella from her hands as she enters and closing it before setting it in an umbrella stand by the door.

"Wait here, please, miss."

"Sir," Joseph finds Uther in his study, facing the large windows, watching the rain.

"Who is at the door, Joseph?"

"A young lady from the gallery where Mister Arthur's show was held, sir. Says her name is—"

"Guinevere?" he says, turning.

"Yes, sir. She says she would like to speak with you. Has a large parcel with her."

"Show her to the sitting room. I will be out momentarily," Uther says, turning back to the windows.

"Yes, sir."

Gwen waits, looking around, taking everything in. _No personal photos. No sign of any family at all,_ she notes. _Not even a picture of Morgana. It's like a museum. All for looking, nothing for touching._

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Uther's voice startles her slightly and she turns.

"Not at all," she says smiling. "Um, I never got to formally introduce myself at the show. I'm Gwen," she offers her hand.

"Gwen," he says, eyebrows rising. "Not Guinevere?"

"Most people just call me Gwen, sir."

"You are Arthur's girlfriend," he says, cutting to the chase.

"Um, yes," she says, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I… I have something I'd like to show you, sir, if you please."

Uther looks down at the item she's brought, wrapped in a large black trash bag against the rain. She bends and opens the bag, then withdraws the paintings, setting them on a side table.

"Arthur painted these. He kept them out of the show."

"Hmm," Uther noncommittally says.

"I thought you deserved to see them."

"And what did you hope to accomplish by showing me these?" he says, his voice just slightly edged with frost.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I… thought you should see them, and I didn't know if Arthur would ever do it, so…"

"So you took matters into your own hands."

"I guess so."

"This really isn't your business, Gwen," he says. Gwen cannot help notice that he is doing nothing but stare at the paintings, however, and his cold words don't sting as much as he wants them to.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I believe it is my business," she says, and he finally looks at her. "I love your son. I want nothing for him but happiness."

"He seemed pretty content to me."

"He puts up a good front. I imagine he gets that from you," she carefully says. "But deep inside, the rift between you still hurts him. Your treatment of him, your… disregard for his talent, hurts him. More than he will admit."

"My treatment of him?" he asks now, and Gwen can sense his temper rising.

"Yes," she holds her ground. _I am not backing down now. I stuck the stick in the beehive, now it's time to deal with the bees._ "Disowning him because he didn't want to be the next Uther Pendragon. Very fatherly."

"How dare you!" He wheels on her now. "How dare you come into my house and criticize me, berate me for things about which you know very little!"

Gwen lifts her chin, not backing down. "No, how dare _you,_ Mr. Pendragon. How dare you cast aside your only son like a stranger just because his God-given talents were not in line with _your_ precious wishes! How dare you damage a human life, a human life that _you_ helped create, over something so…" she searches for the right word, " _trivial!_ "

"Trivial? Pendragon Financial, the entire Pendragon empire, _trivial?_ "

"Only things, Mr. Pendragon," she says sadly, lowering her voice now. "Things have little value."

"Hippie talk," he snorts derisively.

She squares her shoulders. "So what you're saying is that your wealth and power is more important than your own child."

He says nothing, so she continues.

"What of family, sir? What will happen if Arthur and I marry and have children? Would you turn your back on your grandchildren? Would you deny them their grandfather? Excuse me, but _that_ is the kind of legacy with which you should be concerned," she says, lifting the paintings down from the table now and placing them back in the bag. "I came here to show you these paintings," Gwen says, "because I thought they might touch you. Might reach you in some way, show you the depth inside your son that you likely haven't seen. I guess I was wrong. Thank you for your time, and I'm sorry for disturbing you." She lifts the paintings and starts walking from the room.

"Guinevere," he says, and she stops. "I know you probably hate me…"

"I don't hate you, sir," she says, turning slightly. "I pity you. I pity you, alone in this gigantic house. You've written your own sentence, Mr. Pendragon."

"I know," he says, almost inaudible.

She fully turns back to him now. "But you have not written it in stone," she says, smiling sadly at him. "Have a good evening," she finishes, and turns to leave. Joseph hands her her umbrella and she jogs to her car, carefully setting the painting in while she gets wet.

"She yelled at you, sir," Joseph observes, his face completely neutral.

"She did."

"She will be a very good wife to Mister Arthur."

xXx

Gwen drives back to the studio, realizing halfway there that she has been crying most of the way.

"Stupid man," she mutters. "Stupid, pigheaded, arrogant man." They are meant to be insults, but they come out more as laments. _I meant it when I said I pitied him. I really do. He's so lonely and he doesn't even realize it._

She parks, and sees Arthur's motorcycle. "Shit." _Oh well, he's going to want to know anyway._

Gwen wipes her face, checking it in the rear view mirror first. "Hopeless," she declares, and steps out into the drizzly remnants of the rain.

"Guinevere, what are you… what's wrong?" Arthur asks, setting his brush down and crossing the room to her.

"Nothing. Not really, anyway."

"What have you got there?"

She opens the bag and lifts the paintings out, carrying them back to the closet.

"Oh." He knows now where she's been and why she's upset. "Was he awful to you?" he asks, ready to speed back over to his father's mansion if this is the case. "If he was, so help me, I'll…"

"He wasn't awful, Arthur. I brought the paintings because I thought he deserved to see them," she starts.

"I know exactly why you brought the paintings, Sweet," he smiles, pulling her down on the couch with him.

"He raised his voice once, but it was actually me that did most of the yelling," she admits, laughing a little now.

"You?" Arthur asks, chuckling a little now, too. "I would have loved to have seen that."

"Basically, what it comes down to is that he's a very stubborn, very sad man who may be doomed to a life of loneliness if he doesn't get his shit together."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Not quite that succinctly, but those are were my main points, yes."

"He didn't throw you out or anything?"

"No. I kind of… stomped out on my own."

Arthur laughs now.

"Well, it started that way, until he started making sense."

"Really?"

"I think he knows he screwed up, Arthur. He just didn't take very kindly to an almost-complete stranger marching into his house and telling him as much."

"Sounds like him," he says, pulling her back against him. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"Took the afternoon to go harass your dad."

"Oh yeah, Wednesday afternoon."

"You know about that?"

"Oh yeah, he's done that for years," he says. "I'm sorry he was kind of a prat to you, Guinevere," he adds, wrapping his arms around her now.

"It's all right. I knew was I was walking into. And thank you for not saying 'I told you so.'"

"I was just about to, actually," he says softly in her ear.

"Oh!" she leans forward and smacks his arm.

"Come here," he draws her back down to him, turning her face towards his for a kiss.

"Can I see your painting?" she asks.

"Oh! Yes, definitely." He takes her hand and leads her to the easel. It's completely sketched in, and he's got the ankle about half-painted.

"Arthur, this is fabulous," she says, again having to suppress the urge to touch the painting.

"Thank you, I'm glad you like it," he says. He spots something, picks up his layout pencil, and makes a few marks on the center panel, adjusting the corner of Gwen's lips just slightly. "Better," he declares.

 _If you say so,_ she thinks, not seeing much difference. "I didn't know my ankle could look so good," she says, laughing.


	43. Chapter 43

Arthur strolls casually and somewhat cautiously up to the doors of the childcare center Friday morning. Some of the children are arriving and he is being subject to all kinds of scrutiny from parents and children alike, but he tries to ignore it.

 _Guinevere was right to make me wear a plain t-shirt today,_ he thinks, chuckling over what these nice parents would think if he was wearing his _Sex Pistols_ shirt.

He enters and looks around. A young lady approaches him warily. "Can I help you… sir?"

"Yes, I have an appointment with Sharon Reeves," he says, smiling at her.

"Um, name?"

"Arthur Pendragon. Though she may know me as Drag," he tells her, looking around at the brightly colored walls bedecked with various posters and the children's artwork. He tries to ignore the vague smell of disinfectant and stale urine.

Sharon comes out, eyes on Arthur, muttering something to the girl that met him.

"Um… Drag?" she says warily.

"Yes, ma'am, pleased to meet you," he walks over, holding his hand out to shake.

Her eyes are glued to his Mohawk, but she shakes his hand.

He blinks. _Here we go._ "Something wrong, ma'am?" he asks, keeping his voice polite, his face open and friendly.

"Er, no… I guess not; I just wasn't expecting…"

"Glue Man!" A small voice, strangely familiar, shouts behind Arthur and he turns. He sees the little girl, Rebecca, from that night at McDonald's. She is pulling at her mother's hand while her mother struggles to keep hold on her baby brother.

"Mummy! It's the Glue Man! From Donald's!" she breaks away from her mother and runs over to Arthur, hugging his legs. Her mortified mother, blushing bright red, follows.

"Hello, Rebecca," Arthur laughs, bending down once she's released him. "How are you?"

"Good. I forgot your name, Glue Man."

Arthur laughs some more. "Arthur, remember?" he smiles and presses her nose with his finger.

"You know this young man?" Sharon asks Rebecca's mother, clearly looking for a character reference.

"Um, sort of. He was sitting near us at McDonald's one evening and Rebecca would not leave him alone," her mother chuckles.

Arthur stands. "Come on, it was fun and you know it," he grins at the mother, who he notices is wearing a waitress' uniform and no wedding ring. Then he waves at the baby, who ducks and hides in his mother's shoulder.

"He's a nice man, Miss Sharon," Rebecca says. "He's funny, too. He let me touch his hair and everything!" Then she turns to Arthur. "Where's your wife?"

"She's at her work," he laughs. Then he bends down again. "And she's not actually my wife, she's my girlfriend," he whispers.

"Oh. I wanted to see her pretty hair again."

"Rebecca, we need to get you to your room, and Andrew needs a change. I'm going to be late for work as it is," her mother says, reaching down for her hand. "You can bother Mr. Arthur later."

"Nice seeing you again," Arthur calls, still laughing over the whole coincidence. _That little girl just saved my ass._

"Why does she call you 'Glue Man?'" Sharon asks him.

"I guess she couldn't remember my name. And I told her that I use glue to make my hair do this," he points. "Apparently _that_ detail stuck with her," he chuckles.

"Do you?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Yep. Probably the same stuff you use here, actually," he grins at her now, and she cannot help but smile back.

"This way," Sharon leads him back to her office. Arthur sees she has his painting hanging on the wall behind her desk, in plain view, for any visiting parent to see.

"Hey, that looks good up there," he points.

"I've gotten several compliments on it already in the week I've had it," she says, sitting. "So you're really a blonde, then," she smirks at him.

"Yeah, you caught me. Guinevere must have told you that was me, right?" he asks, pointing.

She nods. "Your girlfriend, I presume?"

He nods now.

"She told me about the painting, yes, how that's you and your best mate, and that you two are still close."

"Yeah," he laughs. "I don't know why he puts up with me. But then again, I don't know why I put with him."

"I think you do," she laughs with him. "But that is one of the reasons I wanted to commission you for more work. Even though I hadn't met you, I could see in your work, particularly in _this_ piece, that you have a good soul. That you care about people. In spite of your… fashion sense, apparently."

"Ah, there it is," he smiles broadly. "I always wonder how long it takes people to summon up enough nerve to mention it."

"Sorry, I was actually quite taken aback when I saw you. I thought Julie was having me on."

"It happens. Good thing little Rebecca happened by, then," he says, nicely but slightly pointedly.

"Indeed," she admits, looking down. "You obviously made quite an impression on her at the McDonald's."

Arthur tells Sharon about that night, about how Gwen had a stressful day and how Rebecca wanted to get a Mohawk of her own.

"And you talked her out of it?" Sharon is impressed. "She's a stubborn little thing!"

"Luckily Guinevere was there with me, so I could redirect Rebecca to a more _appropriate_ role model," he laughs.

"Yes, Gwen was lovely," Sharon says, and the memory of Tim's interest in the young woman floats to the front of her mind. She nervously looks down at some papers in front of her.

"Made quite the impression on your boss, I understand," Arthur says, leaping on it. Sharon looks up, surprised. "Of course she told me," he shrugs.

Sharon chuckles nervously. "He's harmless. Just lonely, I think."

 _Wonder if she fancies him,_ Arthur thinks, but as he is still trying to make a good impression, he keeps his thought to himself.

"So, to business. We cannot offer you a very large sum, but we are hoping that the fact that this is a humble childcare center will hold some sway," she says, passing a sheet of paper to him with a figure written on it.

"Of course. I actually get on quite well with children," he says, glancing at the number, finding that he doesn't really even care how much it is. "They find me interesting and I find them rather hilarious," he laughs.

"I'm sure," she chuckles. He hands the paper back with a nod.

"Oh. That's it? You're fine with it?"

"Sure," he shrugs. "So, what did you have in mind?"

"Maybe a piece for the main room. Something big, colorful. Cheerful."

"Right. No severed heads or nudes, then," he jokes, catching Sharon quite off guard, and she laughs loudly, once, before placing her hand over her mouth.

Arthur grins. "May I have a tour?"

"Um… okay," she stands and he follows her to the door.

"We'll start with the infants and work our way up," she decides, heading for the first door.

Arthur explores the room, ignoring the puzzled looks from the teachers. Puzzled looks that turn to shy smiles, however, when they see him smiling down at the chubby little faces, even allowing one to grasp his finger and pull it to his mouth, biting down with his gums.

"Sorry," the teacher rushes over, "he's teething. No, no, Jeffrey, do not bite the man."

Arthur carefully extracts his finger, laughing. "It's fine. And my hands are clean, by the way," he holds them up for inspection.

"Very good," the teacher declares, chuckling, noting that even his fingernails are spotless.

He strolls to a bulletin board, pausing to stroke little Andrew's downy head, and stands in front of and array of papers bearing the babies' feet prints turned into cats, their toes at the bottom for the cats' feet and ears and a tail drawn on.

"Cute," he declares. "Clever."

Next is the two-year-old room, which is significantly noisier. Until, as a group, they see Arthur, and the noise diminishes until he is faced with a roomful of tiny stares.

"Hi," he says, waving.

"Children, this is Mr. Arthur. He's an artist."

One little girl points to his head and garbles something incomprehensible.

"She wants to know why your hair is like that," the teacher translates.

"You like it?" he asks, turning his head this way and that to give them all a better view.

"All right, children," the teacher announces, taking advantage of the quiet. "Take your seats."

Arthur chuckles, noting the next level of art hanging on the walls: finger painting. Swirls and splotches, mostly, but here and there he sees an accidental bit of brilliance. "I haven't finger painted in years," he says absently.

The three-year-olds are even more interested in Arthur. He unintentionally interrupts their "circle," where they spend the first moments of the day, seated on a large colorful rug. Sharon introduces him again to the group.

"Mister," one calls, "you've got something in your nose."

"Joshua!" the teacher admonishes.

"I know, thank you," Arthur answers. "I put it there."

The children gasp, and another pipes up, "Don't you get bogeys all over it?"

"Annie!"

Arthur laughs and Sharon leads him to the four-year-old room. They, too, are in a circle, but Rebecca jumps up and runs over to him as soon as she sees him, pulling him to the circle with her.

"Rebecca, would you like to introduce our guest?" Sharon asks.

Arthur squeezes in next to Rebecca, gamely sitting on the floor.

"This is my friend, Mr. Arthur," Rebecca says, remembering his name. "He puts glue in his hair. And he only gets bogeys on _that,_ " she points, "when he has a cold."

The room teacher stares, rendered speechless. Sharon tries to hide her laughter. Arthur does not, laughing openly. The children all join in.

"Mr. Arthur is an artist," Sharon supplies. "He's going to be painting something for the school."

"What are you going to paint?"

"Are you going to paint the walls?"

"Can you paint me?"

"Are you going to paint _Star Wars?_ "

"Can we help?"

"Whoa, whoa," Arthur's voice rises above them and he holds his hands out. Amazingly, they calm down, entranced by this strange man. "I haven't decided yet. That's why Miss Sharon is bringing me around. So I can see where you all spend your day and decide what I want to paint."

"Oh," they all chorus.

"Do you really put glue in your hair?"

"How else would I get it to stick up like this?" he answers, smiling. "All right, I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing," he says, standing.

"Aw…" the children all groan, disappointed.

"Maybe I'll be back later," he says, winking at them. He glances once at the teacher, who blushes, so he decides to turn back to Sharon. "Do you have a playground?"

"Yes," she says. "This way."

She leads him outside to a large open area with some playground equipment, a sandbox, and some benches, all surrounded by a rather bleak concrete wall.

Arthur stares at the wall. "Aha," he declares aloud.

"Aha?" Sharon asks.

He points. "That wall. Does it belong to the childcare center or the building next door?"

"It's ours," she answers, "but…" she stops herself, realizing where he is going. "You want to paint _that?_ "

"Yes," he turns to her, his face lit up with excitement. "And I want the children to help."

"That," Sharon says, "is a brilliant idea."

Arthur spends the rest of the day there, visiting the children, talking with them as much as he can. He finger paints. He strings beads on a piece of yarn. He eats biscuits and drinks juice at snack time. He charms everyone in sight.

He spends a lot of time with the four-year-olds, largely because he can understand what they are saying and they are the most engaging.

They are seated at tables, gluing dry macaroni noodles to construction paper. "I've decided what I want to paint, kids. Would you like to know?"

"Yes!"

He looks up from his macaroni mosaic. "You know that _big_ wall around the playground?"

"Yeah."

"I want to paint that," he declares.

"Wow!"

"That's big!"

"That's bandalism."

"What?" Arthur turns to this last commenter.

"My daddy's a p'liceman. He says when people paint on walls it's bandalism."

"It's not vandalism if you have permission," Arthur says, chuckling. "Do you know what 'permission' is?"

"That's when someone says okay when you want to do something," the boy answers.

"Yes, very good," Arthur says, looking up to see Sharon observing the whole scene. "And you know what? I know _two_ policeman."

"You do?" the child is impressed.

"Yes. Well, one will be a policeman soon, and the other one has been one for a very long time."

"Is he a captain?"

"Detective Inspector."

"Whoa."

Arthur laughs. The teacher then asks, attempting to steer the conversation back on track, "What are you going to paint on that giant wall?"

"Well, that's the thing. What do you all think I should do? What kinds of things do you like?"

"Ponies!"

"Rainbows!"

"Trains!"

"Kittens!"

"Tractors!"

"Candy!"

"Yeah, candy!"

"Dragons!"

"Superman!"

"Legos!"

" _Star Wars!_ "

 _I have got to see that movie once it gets here,_ Arthur thinks. "Did someone say dragons?"

"I said dragons!" one girl hops up.

"Does anyone _not_ like dragons?" Arthur asks, glancing up at Sharon again, still watching.

 _Bloody hell, he's like the Pied Piper,_ she thinks, exiting the room again, rather satisfied with herself.

He doesn't hear any dissent, so he continues. "Because I can do really _cool_ dragons," he says, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. "Markers? Crayons? Something?" he asks the teacher, and she hands him a box of crayons that happened to be within reach.

"Thank you, Miss Melissa," he says, taking the box.

He starts to draw, and pretty soon the entire class is huddled around his table, watching as he draws a long, serpentine dragon, stretching across the page. He is careful not to make it too gruesome or scary. _A friendly dragon,_ he reminds himself.

"Wicked," one little boy says, awestruck.

"That's really good," Rebecca says from his side. She's been attached to his hip most of the afternoon, in fact.

"Thank you. And you know what?" he looks up. "I think I want you all to help me paint the mural."

"I thought it was a dragon."

Arthur laughs. "A _mural_ is a large painting on a wall, usually in a public place. So we will be doing a _mural_ of a dragon."

"Oh…" they all chorus.

"So, this do?" he holds up the crayon drawing of the dragon.

"Yes!" they all yell.

"Good. We'll probably have to give him some friends, too. That's a big wall."

"Yay!" they all cheer.

"All right, all right," Miss Melissa quiets them down, glancing at the clock. "We'll have to finish our noodle art later, children. It's rest time, now."

"Aw…"

"Best you listen to your teacher," Arthur says, standing and stretching. _Those are really short chairs._

"Are you going?" the teacher asks him.

"Probably should do, yes. I imagine I need to pay Miss Sharon another visit to finalize details or something."

The children are pulling blankets and, in some cases, various comfort toys from cubbies, going to their little cots. Melissa turns to Arthur.

"They really like you," she chuckles nervously.

 _Why do I feel like I know where this is going?_ Arthur thinks.

"They're great," he says, chuckling at the children. Rebecca waves at him and yawns. He waves back, and blows her a kiss.

"Um, can I give you my number?" she asks very quietly.

"Sorry," he says. "I'm flattered, but I have a girlfriend."

xXx

"God, Guinevere, you should have seen them, they were so funny," Arthur says that night. He and Gwen had agreed to meet up at the pub after she was done working for a bite of supper and to see their friends.

"I'm glad you had fun," she says, chuckling, really wishing she could have seen him there with all those kids. "And I like my macaroni picture."

"It's a mosaic," he says haughtily.

Gwen laughs. "Oh, I do beg pardon."

"Here, do you see it?" He takes the paper and holds it back a distance. Up close, Gwen was unable to see the large _G_ in the middle of everything, cleverly done by simply turning the appropriate noodles a different direction from the others.

"Oh!" she exclaims, giggling now. "You made me a G!"

"Yep," he hands it back to her and she sets it aside, not wishing to soil it. _I wonder what the man at the framer's would think if I brought this in,_ she thinks, chuckling to herself.

"Oh, one of the teachers wanted to give me her number," Arthur says, smirking as he lifts his burger to his lips.

"She did not," Gwen says, shoving his shoulder.

"Did so," he argues. "She basically threw herself at me at naptime."

"Arthur…"

"Okay, so that part I made up. But she did offer her number."

"And did you give _our_ phone number to her?" Gwen raises her eyebrow at him.

"Of course," Arthur casually says, earning himself another shove. "No, I didn't," he says, turning towards her and leaning in close. "I told her that I was flattered but I have an incredibly beautiful, very smart, amazingly sexy girlfriend that I love very much," he purrs into her ear.

"You didn't say all that," Gwen says quietly, closing her eyes when he starts kissing her neck.

"Oi! Break it up you two. This is a family establishment," Erik, Merlin's replacement barman, teases them as he walks past.

"No it bloody isn't," Arthur laughs, lifting his face from Gwen's neck nevertheless.

"Damn good thing, too," a voice behind him startles him and Arthur turns to see Merlin and Freya standing there.

"Hey," Arthur greets them. "Leon's doing burgers, go get some."

"Nah, we ate already," Merlin says while Freya greets Gwen, studying the macaroni picture with a puzzled look on her face. "How was your day with the smalls?"

"It was actually really fun," Arthur says.

"Yeah, well, you always did have a way with children," Merlin says. "Come on, bring your plates and we'll get a table."

Arthur tells Merlin and Freya about his adventure with the kids, and gradually the others drift over, squeezing around the table until Leon finally pulls another table over.

"So that girl remembered you from one night at McDonald's?" Gwaine asks, skeptical.

"It's true, mate. She saved my ass, too. I think Sharon was considering showing me the door," Arthur laughs.

"Dragons, then," Leon says, thinking. "That's really cool. How are you going to include the children?"

"Yeah, I always thought you too much of a control freak about your art to allow anyone to help, much less a bunch of kids," Merlin adds.

"How big are these dragons going to be?" Gwen asks.

"About like so," Arthur stretches his arms wide, one high, one low. "And probably ten feet long."

"Dragons have scales, right?" she asks.

"Yes…"

"Have the children put their handprints on as the scales."

There are various mutterings of agreement within the group. Arthur thinks, staring. Gwen can see him visualizing this.

"You," he leans over and kisses her, "are brilliant."

"Thanks," Gwen says, blushing.

" _Here_ you are," Lance comes rushing into the pub, apparently having been in search of them.

"Hey, Lance, mate, pull up a chair," Arthur says.

"Shove over," Lance brings a chair in between Leon and Gwaine. Leon happily scoots closer to Phil, Gwaine grumbles as he has to scoot closer to Merlin.

"What's going on?" Gwen asks.

"Annis called me today," Lance says, motioning to Erik for a drink. "She said she found a buyer for that big collage already!"

"Bloody hell!" Arthur exclaims. "Who? Where?"

"Thanks," Lance says to Erik as he sets a pint down for him. Gwen tries not to notice Arthur studying the exchange, looking for clues. She kicks him under the table, then realizes her mistake when he raises an eyebrow at her and runs his hand up her thigh under the table.

Lance takes a drink. "Apparently it's going to a spa over in Bath that she frequents. She sent them a photo and they went nuts over it."

"Wow, Sweet, you're going to be all over the wall of a spa," he grins at her.

Gwen blushes furiously. "Yikes."

"Gwen, you are much too modest, but that's why we love you," Lance says, laughing. "I think it's a perfect fit, actually. What better location for it than a place where women go to make themselves beautiful, right?"

"It's even, like, spa-colored," Gwaine adds. "All white and… serene."

"See, Gwaine gets it," Lance says, nodding at him.

"Will you be getting another fat check from this, then?" Merlin asks. Freya punches his arm. "Ow! What?"

Arthur laughs. "No, Annis already bought the painting. It's hers to sell now, to make that money back."

"Plus a little," Lance adds.

"That hardly seems fair," Merlin says.

Lance shrugs. "That's the way it works. She buys it for price A and sells it for a slightly higher price B. Otherwise she wouldn't make a profit."

"Drag should try to sell his own paintings, then," Merlin says.

"Maybe one day, once I've made a name for myself I'll be able to do that," Arthur says, unconcerned. "In the meantime, I'm happy for any help Annis can give me. I'm just trying to get my stuff out there right now. If she can make a few pounds while getting my name and my work known, so be it."

"That is her job," Lance says. "So. Congratulations, Drag."

"Thanks, mate," Arthur says, and the two men clink glasses across the table.

Gwen watches Arthur, smiling to herself, proud of him. _Just when I think I cannot love him any more, something else pops up. Today it was two somethings._

xXx

"What on earth are you doing, Arthur?" Gwen asks, entering the bedroom to find him hauling her full-length mirror out of the closet and leaning it against the wall.

"I am going to show you how beautiful you are, Guinevere," he says, stepping back to check the placement, the angle. He turns to her and adds, "Because apparently you still don't believe all of us that you are."

"I'm afraid to ask…" she says, walking slowly over towards him.

He holds his hand out to her. "Don't be shy now," he says softly, his voice switching to that velvety register that always makes her heart thump. She puts her hand in his and he pulls her into the circle of his arms, gazing down at her through heavy-lidded eyes, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Arthur lowers his head and kisses her, his one hand coming up to pull the elastic band that had been holding her hair back in a low ponytail. He carelessly drops it to the floor and she feels his long, strong fingers delve into her hair, sliding against her scalp at the base.

His other hand finds the zipper at the back of her skirt, pulling it down. He tugs at it and it falls around her feet. She kicks it aside.

Gwen pulls his t-shirt up, pulling her lips from his to remove it. She leans forward and kisses the dragon tattooed on his shoulder, smiling at it just slightly.

Arthur turns her so she is facing the mirror. "Can you see everything?" he whispers close in her ear. She nods, and he reaches around to work on her buttons.

She feels his lips at her neck as her blouse slowly opens. She watches his skillful fingers free the buttons from their holes, watches as a narrow column of brown skin comes into view between the two halves of the light blue blouse. Her eyes drift closed once, his kisses too much.

"Open your eyes, my love. I want you to watch yourself. I want you to watch us."

She opens her eyes as he gently pulls her blouse from her shoulders and tosses it aside. His arms are around her again, sliding on her waist, and Gwen finds that her eyes are drawn to where his hands go.

He kisses her shoulder, working his way back up her neck to whisper in her ear some more.

"Try to see yourself the way I see you, Guinevere," he says, his breath warm against her skin. She watches his hands on her skin, one reaching down to her thigh, skimming back up to her hip. "This skin should be illegal."

Gwen actually giggles at this, but Arthur stops her. "I'm completely serious. The color, the texture, it's just… perfect. Not to mention," he pauses, placing a hungry, open-mouthed kiss at the base of her neck, "the flavor."

She presses her lips together and looks down, bringing her hand up to rest over his. "You are a petite, beautiful, perfect flower," his voice in her ear again makes her look up, back into the mirror, where she meets his eyes, his intense gaze searing into her.

Arthur reaches back and unhooks her bra now, freeing her breasts to her sight as the garment drops with the rest.

"Have you ever really looked at yourself, Guinevere?" he asks, switching sides to whisper into her other ear, one hand coming up to softly cup one breast.

She shakes her head no, and he chuckles against her skin. "Of course you haven't." He kisses her neck once more. "Every curve exact, every line perfect," he continues, his other hand resting just at the flare of her hip, showing her the curve, the line.

"Watch," he says, his hand caressing her breast, his fingers skimming across the surface, his thumb rubbing lightly across her nipple. "Watch how your body responds. How it changes when I touch."

Gwen is helpless in his arms, fallen under his spell, and can do nothing but comply, watching as her nipple tightens and stiffens under his gentle touches.

Arthur's left hand comes up to cover the other, giving it similar treatment. Then he moves one hand higher, to her neck, softly caressing the side.

"See?" his hand drags along the line of her shoulder, tracing her collarbone, the tendons on the side of her neck. "See the beautiful lines, the shapes, the shadows?" His hand lingers at the spot where her collarbone meets her neck, the tendon just to the side of her throat. "This right here," he leans way over and kisses the spot, "this is one of your most beautiful details."

"It is?" Gwen whispers, finally finding her voice.

"And I'll bet you never even noticed it," he says, his lips still against her skin, roving along her shoulder.

"And this as well," he runs his finger along the line of her jaw.

 _I never liked my jaw. Always thought it was too wide,_ she thinks, wondering at him.

"You don't agree?" he asks, as if he has read her mind.

"It's too wide," she answers, still whispering.

"Nonsense," Arthur argues, kissing her jaw now. "Beauty is in the unique, not the convention, Guinevere. I said it the first day I met you. You have such unique beauty."

"You did," she remembers, smiling.

"Ah, now, your lips…" he says, taking a few moments to appreciate them with his own, "surely you cannot deny their appeal." He kisses her once more. "When I paint you, they're my favorite things to paint. If I was a poet, I would write sonnets about them." Another kiss, longer, and he sucks at her upper lip just a bit.

"You already know how I feel about your little nose with its little freckles," he says once he releases her lips, kissing her nose and turning her back towards the mirror, realizing that they shifted during his worship of her lips.

"I do like my eyes," she admits, beating him to the punch.

"Good," he says, grinning behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist once again. "I like them, too," he says.

He runs his fingers through her hair for a few moments, saying nothing now, letting his hands convey his feelings, the dark curls tangling and sliding between them. He lifts a handful to his lips and kisses it.

Arthur releases her hair, skimming his hands down along her body again, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her panties.

 _Is he honestly going to talk about_ that?, Gwen wonders as he slides them down over her legs.

"You have long legs for someone so tiny," he says somewhat absently, lifting her feet in turn to fully remove the last bit of clothing she still had on. He stands again, allowing his hands to slide up her legs and briefly squeeze her backside. "Come," he instructs, leading her over to the bed. He sits on the edge and looks to the side, making sure they can still see. Then he stands and quickly removes his jeans and sits again, pulling her down over him so that she is straddling his lap. "Can you see?" he asks quietly, pulling her face down to his for a kiss.

"You still want me to watch?" she asks against his lips.

"Absolutely," he rumbles, his hands on her hips, sliding around to caress her backside. "I want you to see how amazing you look when we make love," he says, kissing her neck, working his way down to her breasts.

"That's going to be…" she says, her hands coming up to hold his head, "somewhat distracting, Arthur."

"Imagine it from my point of view," he smirks, lifting his head. "I have to see it all the time."

"Well, then, you're – oh – more accustomed to it," she says, briefly interrupted when his hand comes around to the front of her, his fingers finding her hot wetness at the juncture of her thighs.

Arthur's tongue laves her nipple, his fingers tease her, drawing her out, making her forget any lingering inhibitions. Making her forget that she's supposed to be watching. She drops her head back, eyes closed, and moans, fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Watch," he softly reminds her, chuckling a little against her breasts.

"Oh yeah," she breathes, turning her head again, looking into the mirror at their intertwined bodies, the contrast of their skins, the stark black streak of Arthur's Mohawk standing out from his head at her breasts.

 _Oh, my God,_ is all she can think.

His fingers leave her and he shifts her hips closer. She can feel his shaft nudging her now, asking for entrance.

"Keep watching, Guinevere," he says quietly, lifting his head. "Watch as I enter you."

_Dear God._

She obediently watches the mirror as she drops her hips lower and takes him inside, the feeling of him sheathed within her familiar and exciting all at once. He shifts his hips and starts to move, holding her hips, helping her move over him.

Gwen is mesmerized, watching them in the glass. Her cinnamon skin has taken on a pinkish tinge, as if she is blushing all over. Her dark chocolate curls cascade down her back, over her shoulders, moving fluidly with their motions. Her breasts rise and fall, bouncing gently as she moves over him. Her long slender limbs, entwined with his, look graceful and sleek.

"Oh, my God," she breathes, watching him now, his skin glowing gold, shimmering slightly with sweat. His muscular torso taut and rippling, his biceps standing out from his arms as they work to help her move. His face, completely relaxed. Unguarded. Blissful.

 _His masculinity is such a contrast to my femininity,_ she realizes, the last coherent thoughts she has. _He is all hard muscle and sinew, and I am all soft curves and flowing lines._

"Oh…" she gasps, Arthur's mouth on her breast again, his hips moving faster, more urgently. She is warm all over, spreading out from her center, threatening to overtake her.

"Arthur… Oh!" she finally cries out, and moments later his whole body tenses around her, within her, and he releases into her with a massive groan.

Gwen wraps her arms around him, holding him close, finally tearing her eyes from the mirror.

"Holy shit," she finally says.

"Indeed," he answers, still breathing heavily.

They hold each other for what feels an eternity, tenderly stroking, softly kissing. Eventually they work their way into the bed, still clinging to each other.

"Did you know that one of your boobs is slightly bigger than the other?" Arthur asks from the crook of her neck where his head is still resting.

"Oof!" she exclaims, shoving at him. "Yes, but thank _you_ for pointing it out," she says, scowling. "And for your information, that is perfectly normal and quite common."

"Don't get mad, Sweet, I was merely making an observation," he says, curling up behind her now. "And you can only _really_ tell if you hold them," he purrs in her ear.

"Shut up." She is trying not to laugh now, hoping that he won't notice this because her back is to him.

"What's the big deal, anyway?" he asks casually. "My balls are slightly different sizes, too, but you don't see me getting all bent out of shape over it."

"Arthur!" Gwen shouts, and the laughter she has been holding in bursts forth in a great cascade.

"I knew it," he says, squeezing her tightly to him. "I knew you were laughing and I wasn't going to rest until I heard it."

"Oh?"

"You have a fantastic laugh. It's a shame you can't see that in the mirror."


	44. Chapter 44

"So how is it that the two of you managed to beat us twice?" Arthur asks as they emerge from the pub, blinking in the bright sunlight. Not the Dragon's Head; a different pub, one with a billiard table.

"Fray and I used to go out to the pubs when we were at University, _not_ drink, and then beat drunk guys at billiards," Gwen explains, chuckling. "And you two won two games as well, so we're all nice and even."

"Leon needs to get a table," Arthur comments.

"Leon doesn't _want_ a table," Merlin reminds him. "He says the darts are bad enough."

"Why is that?" Gwen asks.

"He says the cues will just turn into weapons at some point. That and there's too much upkeep on a billiard table."

"Ah."

"And they're bloody expensive, too," Merlin adds.

"There it is," Freya laughs.

"So, tell me," Arthur asks, "when you would go out not drinking, how easily did you beat these drunken blokes?"

"We didn't _always_ win," Gwen amends.

"Ah, but when you did, was it because you were the more skilled team, or because you are a couple of cute birds?"

"Oh!" Gwen fumes, taking her hand from his grasp and smacking him with it. "Why is it so hard to accept that we beat you a couple times? Did you think we went out waving our bums at the guys while they were trying to make their shots? That I was chalking my cue by placing the chalk between my tits and bending over like _this?_ " she pantomimes, holding an invisible cue in front of her.

Merlin is laughing loudly now, earning him a very dirty look from Arthur.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry," he says.

"You were expecting to just run the table and have done, weren't you?" she asks, hands on her hips.

"Maybe," he pouts. She stares. "Yeah."

"Perhaps next time we'll stop going easy on you," Gwen says airily, turning to start walking again.

"Wait, what?"

She blows a kiss to him, now several feet ahead of him, laughing with Freya.

"Girls are strange," Arthur says, looking at Merlin.

"And boys are yucky," Gwen shoots back. Arthur promptly jogs forward and grabs her around the waist, pulling her to him.

"Yucky?" he purrs at her while she giggles at him. "You didn't seem to think I was so yucky last night," he smirks at her, kissing her. "Or this morning," he adds, kissing her again, longer.

"Don't want to hear about it," Merlin says, starting to walk.

"Oh, like you're so innocent, Emrys," Gwen calls, extracting herself from Arthur's grasp.

He turns and makes an innocent face at her.

"Bet you a pound that you were _naked_ when I called Freya's flat this morning to invite you out," she challenges, her hands on her hips.

Merlin blushes, and Freya quietly says, "Give her a pound, Pet."

Arthur and Gwen laugh and start walking, Arthur patting Merlin on the shoulder as they brush past him.

"Keep your pound, Merlin," Gwen says over her shoulder.

"Hey, what are you two doing later?" Freya asks, taking Merlin's hand and pulling him, reminding him they are walking.

"Dinner with my father, actually," Gwen says. "He was going to take us out after Arthur's opening, but Arthur was sick, so we had to take a rain check."

"Ooo, dinner with DI Degrance, must be serious," Freya says in mock severity.

"Nah, despite appearances, Daddy actually likes Arthur," Gwen says.

"He does?" Arthur asks.

"Yes. He does. And that reminds me… Merlin: we simply _must_ find a way to get my dad to meet your mum. You know, since he turned chicken at the gallery."

"Right," Merlin agrees, grinning.

"Ugh, Merlin, you're setting up your _mum?_ "

"Something wrong with my father?" Gwen asks.

"Of course not, it's not that, but… that's his _mum._ Merlin, do you really want to think about your mother being… romantic with someone? Anyone?" Arthur asks.

"Had to have happened once," Freya mutters, and Gwen laughs.

"Look, you know my dad's been gone a long time," Merlin says, his voice serious, soft. Gwen turns, interested, never having heard him speak of his father. "And, well… she's lonely. She'll never admit it, but she is. I'd like her to have some happiness. And if she can find some with Gwen's dad, then so be it."

xXx

Guinevere's father takes them to his favorite place, a simple diner-type affair, nothing swank or fancy. Solid comfort food. Large portions. Waitresses that keep your drinks filled without your having to ask.

"Yeah, we come here a lot for lunch," Tom says. "I'm not much for posh places," he shrugs. "Plus it's close to the station."

"It's great here," Arthur says, "this chicken is bloody amazing," he says, peeling off another section of meat and popping it into his mouth with his fingers.

Gwen has a large chef salad, served in a bowl the size of her head. She spears a hunk of cheese, ham, hard-boiled egg, and, finally, some lettuce and somehow manages the whole bite, much to Arthur's amusement.

"Gwen tells me you have a bit of a sweet tooth," Tom says to Arthur. "So make sure you save room for dessert. They have a carrot cake that is just mind-boggling."

"I always have room for dessert," Arthur grins.

"A _bit_ of a sweet tooth?" Gwen laughs. "I don't believe those were the words I used."

"I was being polite," Tom laughs with her. "She really said you were a sugar junkie."

"Well, those were my words originally, so, no harm done," Arthur laughs.

"So, Gwen, when exactly is your mother getting married to that Pierre bloke, anyway?" Tom asks, digging his fork into a shepherd's pie large enough for nearly all three of them.

"I don't know; you know how she is. Vague with the details."

"Vague with details involving _her,_ you mean. If it's details about anyone else then she's a bloody private investigator," he laughs.

"I would imagine next spring, but for all I know, they've gone off and eloped," Gwen says, then sighs. "I probably should call her. I just hate to, though. It's expensive."

"God forbid she pick up the phone, right?"

Gwen rolls her eyes and takes a drink. "But I know you want to talk to your lawyer, so I'll call her maybe tomorrow night and see what I can find out. Rates will be cheaper."

"I appreciate that, Gwennie."

"I know, Dad. Oh, guess what?" Gwen changes the subject.

"Hmm?"

"That big collections of drawings that I wouldn't let you look too closely at?"

"Yes…"

"Annis sold it to a spa."

"Really? Well done, Pendragon," he says, turning to Arthur.

"Thanks, but I didn't really do anything," Arthur chuckles.

"Well, you created the piece, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then congratulations. But Gwen," he turns back, "are you all right with strangers ogling whatever it was that you didn't especially want your own father to see?"

Gwen glances at Arthur. "Yes, I think so. I'm learning to accept being an artist's muse," she chuckles. She feels Arthur's hand squeeze her knee under the table.

"Muse?" Tom asks.

"Annis dubbed me thusly about five minutes after she met me. I thought I told you that," she tells her father.

"Well, if I start seeing naked pictures of Gwen everywhere, you and I are going to have a conversation," Tom says to Arthur.

"I seriously doubt you'll see naked pictures of her _everywhere,_ Mr. Degrance," Arthur answers.

"You may call me Tom," he finally relents, seeing Gwen's grin out of the corner of his eye.

"I promise you that I will never paint or draw Guinevere in any way that would make her uncomfortable."

"Thank you. I'd prefer it if you had said 'anyway that would make _me_ uncomfortable,' but this will have to do," he smiles.

"Well if that was the case you'd have him painting me in a parka and snow pants, covered from head to toe," Gwen laughs.

"Sounds good to me," Tom grins.

"That would actually be really cute," Arthur says, picturing it in his head. "Guinevere in the snow, snowflakes landing in her hair, her cheeks pink with the cold air…"

Gwen sighs.

"What? Something for winter," he shrugs.

The waitress checks on them, refills their drinks, and brings Gwen the extra napkins she requested.

"So, Arthur," Tom says once the waitress leaves, "Gwen tells me that your father came to the show and bought one of your paintings. Do you think he's having regrets about tossing you aside?"

Arthur glances at Gwen, who smiles a small apologetic smile. _I had no idea he would bring this up, sorry._ "Honestly, sir, I have no idea what is going on in his brain."

"The wealthy and powerful are often the most lonely, I've found. Perhaps he's starting to realize this."

"I don't know. Guinevere thought that his buying the painting, that _specific_ painting was his way of reaching out."

"And what do _you_ think?"

"At first I wasn't sure. But I let her and Merlin convince me to deliver the painting to him personally. Didn't go terribly well. I mean, there was no shouting and he didn't have Joseph throw me out or anything…"

Gwen snorts, unable to picture Joseph throwing anything larger than a trash bag out.

"He's old and skinny, but he's crafty," Arthur grins at Gwen. "Anyone working that long for my father would have to be," he adds darkly.

"So then our little Guinevere decided she'd give it a go. Did she tell you that?" Arthur asks, raising his eyebrows.

"No… Gwen, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Gwen exclaims. "Dad!"

Arthur laughs. "She yelled at him."

"Arthur!"

"You yelled at Uther Pendragon?" Tom asks, incredulous.

"A little."

"She went to his house, even," Arthur adds, thoroughly enjoying himself now. "Well, to be fair, her intentions were noble. She brought over a couple of paintings I had done that were not in the show and will likely never see the outside world."

"Paintings that Arthur had done of his father and his mother," Gwen clarifies, before her father can ask.

"Wait. You went to the man's _home_ and yelled at him?"

"Yeah, he didn't take very kindly to that," Gwen answers, biting her lower lip. "But to be fair, he raised his voice first."

"Well, then, I'll have to have him arrested now," Tom teases.

"I did get him to admit that he is lonely, though. Kind of. He actually made me sad," she says, her eyes growing soft now, the sadness showing.

Arthur puts his hand over hers, squeezing it lightly.

"Tell me about the painting he bought," Tom says, leaning forward on his hands, done with his dinner.

"Look out, he's in DI mode now."

Arthur tells him the story of the storm, the hand on the shoulder, of falling asleep under the table and waking up in his bed the next morning.

"No one else knew the significance of the painting?" Tom asks.

"I told Guinevere after Father bought it. Maybe Merlin knew. Probably. I don't even think Morgana knows about our moment on the porch."

"Definitely reaching out," Tom decides.

"Hmm," Arthur answers.

"Look, I don't know Uther Pendragon. But I know what it is to be a father. Sometimes your children disappoint you. You get over it and forgive them and love them because they are your flesh. It just takes some people longer than others to realize this."

xXx

"Arthur, what happened to Merlin's father?" Gwen asks later, curled in Arthur's arms in bed.

"He died shortly after Merlin was born. Never actually got to see him in person."

"What?"

"He was away, in the war. Korea. Hunith was _just_ pregnant with Merlin when he was called overseas."

"Oh, my God."

"She didn't even know she was pregnant when he left. Must have been a hell of a farewell," he chuckles once.

"What happened?"

"He was a doctor. The hospital where he was stationed – nothing more than a collection of tents, really – was bombed. Completely destroyed."

"That is so sad," Gwen says. She actually feels like she might cry.

"Yes," he says, stroking her shoulder softly, hearing the tremble in her voice. "His box of personal effects contained a battered baby picture of Merlin. To this day, Merlin and Hunith both refuse to watch M*A*S*H*."

"I don't blame them."

"He doesn't talk about it much," Arthur says, cuddling her closer to his side. "They visit his grave every year on Balinor's birthday and on the anniversary of his death. Bring him some daisies and a bag of crisps," Arthur smiles sadly. "But beyond that, they don't talk about him much."

"He was a hero, I hope they know that," Gwen says.

"Without a doubt. I just hope that Hunith doesn't shy away from your father because he's a copper. You know, that same fear."

"Oh, God, good point," Gwen says, looking up at him. "But my dad spends most of his time at his desk these days. He mainly investigates documents and evidence. I think he's getting close to retirement, honestly. Maybe if he doesn't have to pay mum anymore he'll be able to hang up his badge and live a life of leisure."

"Sounds like _you_ want him to live this life of leisure," Arthur says, kissing her forehead.

"Yeah," she admits. "He's been there a long time. He deserves it." Gwen yawns and closes her eyes, snuggling in with a sigh. "I love you, Arthur," she whispers, squeezing him.

"I love you, too."

xXx

They decide to be lazy on Sunday. It is grey and rainy outside, a perfect day to keep the door closed and pull the blankets over one's head. Gwen doesn't even suggest they go to church. They spend most of the morning in bed, talking, making love, watching TV.

She makes waffles and sausages for them for breakfast, even though it is nearly lunchtime.

Arthur lounges around in his shorts, Gwen in her dressing gown, almost like the first afternoon they spent together.

The phone doesn't ring. No one comes knocking. There isn't even any noise from the neighbors. It's like the world has decided to leave them alone as they live in their cozy cocoon.

Arthur eventually settles in on the couch with his sketchpad, drawing ideas for the mural. Gwen decides to bake some bread, just because she hasn't in a while.

"Sweet, come look," he calls.

"One second. I'm up to my elbows here."

"Shouldn't you be using your hands?"

He smiles when he hears her laugh, which has become one of his favorite sounds. Moments later she strolls out, wearing one of his t-shirts.

"When did you put that on?" he asks.

"When I decided to bake. Big sleeves on that robe, they'd get in my way. Besides, I like wearing your shirts. They're comfy."

Arthur smiles at her, realizing somewhere in the back of his brain that she has nothing on under the shirt and realizing that his attention is drifting.

"I know that look," she says. "Later."

"Okay," he says, slightly dejected. "Come tell me what you think, then."

She looks. The dragons are spanning the length of the walls. They appear to be playing games, tossing balls between them. One has his nose in the air, looking like he just bumped the ball to another with one of its front legs raised in a very non-threatening way. The third has his head tilted in a jaunty manor.

"This is charming, Arthur. It's really cute. They'll love it."

"Do you like it?"

"Why do you always need to ask me these questions?" she laughs. "Yes, I like it."

"Because your opinion is the only one that matters to me, really," he answers, quite seriously.

She leans over and kisses him, and he reaches out and runs his hand up the back of her thigh, sliding up under the shirt to her backside.

"Move that dragon's nose just slightly higher," she says, pointing to the one with the ball. "And move your hand off my bum. I have bread dough that needs my attention more than you do right now, darling."

'"That's debatable," he calls after her as she walks back to the kitchen. She dismissively waves a hand back at him, not turning around.

"Damn it, she's right," Arthur says, grabbing his eraser to fix the angle of the dragon's head.

An hour later, Gwen is at one end of the couch, flipping through Merlin's second manuscript, and Arthur is on the other end, still drawing. Gwen thinks he's still working on his mural, but really he's sketching her.

The phone rings, and they both jump. Arthur curses and grabs his eraser. Gwen reaches over for the phone.

"Hello?" She listens a moment, her face a little puzzled.

 _No, not puzzled,_ Arthur thinks. _Surprised._

"Yes, of course, one moment."

"Arthur, it's for you," Gwen says, holding the phone out.

"Who is it?"

"Your father."


	45. Chapter 45

12:28 p.m. finds Arthur sitting on a park bench beside a duck pond. He sets a small shopping bag beside him and glances at his watch.

"Did you honestly think I would be late?" a deep familiar voice says, a voice that seems to always sound tired or irritated.

"No. New watch. I like looking at it," Arthur says as the other man sits beside him on the bench.

"Arthur," he says.

"Father," Arthur says back. Both men stare at the pond, not looking at each other.

"I've been thinking."

"Hmm."

"You were right. About why I came to your show."

"I know."

"Look, I know you're a good artist. Excellent, in fact. I've always known this."

"But?"

"But… but I never considered the fact that you could possibly make a living at it."

"Because you had no faith in me?"

"Because I never considered art to be something of which _anyone_ could make a career."

"Short-sighted or merely superior?" Arthur asks.

"Heh," Uther laughs a short laugh without much humor. "Perhaps both."

"Right."

"Arthur, all I wanted was someone to pass my legacy on to. Someone to take over for me, to protect what I've built."

Arthur sighs. "You have Morgana for that, Father."

"It's not the same," Uther says, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

Arthur turns and looks at his father now. "Why on earth not? She is perfect for it. She's smart. Ruthless. Hell, she even _looks_ like you. So why were you so hell-bent on it being _me?_ "

Uther says nothing.

"Father, if you say that it's because she's a woman I swear to God I will go to the nearest telephone kiosk, ring her up, and tell her just that. Then _you_ will have to deal with her," Arthur threatens, even going so far as to start standing.

"I know, it's wrong and it's stupid. I wanted a _son_ to whom I could relate, who wanted to learn what I had to teach." He sighs. "You never needed me."

"I… never needed… you…?" Arthur mulls over these words, flabbergasted. "Dad. A son always needs his father, regardless of their differences."

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't understand you, all right? I'm sorry I didn't make an effort to foster your gifts," Uther snaps. "It was too painful for me…" he trails off, his voice suddenly quiet.

"Painful?"

Uther sighs again and reaches down, lifting his attaché case into his lap. He snaps it open and draws out a battered notebook. He hands it to Arthur.

Arthur looks at it. Not a notebook; a sketchpad. He opens it to see it filled with beautiful drawings. Flowers, trees, the ocean, more flowers. Mostly lilacs.

"Was this Mum's?" he quietly asks.

"Yes."

"She was really good."

"You're better."

"Thank you."

"I knew I was doomed by the time you were three, Arthur. The only things you wanted were crayons and paper."

"So why all the drama? If you knew, why did you discourage it? Why did you try to make me something I wasn't if you _knew?_ " Arthur asks, suddenly angry, flipping the pad closed.

"I don't know."

"You were clouded. Selfishly clouded by your own grief. You spent so long licking your wounds that they were never allowed to heal. And Morgana and I bore the brunt of that. Mostly me."

Uther looks away, crossly muttering, "I forget how smart you are."

Arthur sighs, then twists the knife. "I cannot even imagine what Mum would say if she were suddenly here. I didn't know her, true, but I can't help thinking that she would be very disappointed in you, Father."

Uther hangs his head now. _He's right._

Frustrated, Arthur leans back and looks at the sky, watching the puffy white clouds drift past. _A sheep. A Tyrannosaurus Rex. A… badger… eating a banana?_

"You know what?" he finally says, "I don't even care anymore. It's in the past. You can't undo what you've done. You fucked up. You let your own grief over losing Mum prevent you from being a loving and supportive father to a son who reminded you too much of her. But you know what? I guess you're right. I _didn't_ need you. Because I still graduated University _on my own,_ still got discovered by a well-known and reputable art dealer and am on my way to building myself a name in the art world. On my own."

Uther stares out over the water, silent. Frowning. Remorseful.

"And that's another thing that needles you, too, isn't it? That I was able to succeed without the mighty Uther Pendragon behind me. You don't think you can share in the happiness of my success because you didn't orchestrate it." He pauses for a few breaths, then continues, his voice stern, but never shouting. "And you're wrong about that, too. I am actually willing to let you back in, let you be proud of me. Because _I_ need to be able to forgive you or I may one day end up _just like you._ And I don't want that. There are more important things in this world than cash and being able to tell people what to do and where to go. Oh, and for all that Morgana is like you, she does know where the true value in life lies. That's one trait that she must have gotten from Mum, I guess."

"I used to know," Uther says quietly.

"But it died with her, didn't it?"

Uther nods, the smallest gesture.

"Do you want to know what I did on Friday? I spent the day at a childcare center. The director wanted to commission a work from me after buying one at the gallery."

"Oh?"

"Yes, but that's not the important part. I went to visit, to get to know her, the place, to see what kind of art might be suited. I ended up spending the _entire day_ there, doing art projects with a bunch of messy toddlers."

Uther chuckles once, almost in spite of himself.

"And you know what? I had an absolute blast. It was one of the best days I've ever had. No amount of money or power can buy that kind of experience, that kind of pure, innocent joy. None."

"Did you decide what you're going to do for them?"

"I'm going to do a bloody great mural on the concrete wall surrounding the playground. And the children are going to help me do it."

"That's… brilliant."

"I know."

"Still arrogant, I see."

" _That_ I do get from you."

Uther chuckles once before turning serious again.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Truly. I don't know what else I can say." His voice is low, quiet. Thoughtful.

"That's enough, really," Arthur admits, looking down at his boots. "The fact that you can actually acknowledge that you were wrong is, in itself, tremendous."

Father and son sit quietly together for a minute or two, contemplating the ducks as they float by, watching as they occasionally dip their heads below the surface for tidbits of food. A short distance away a plump old lady shuffles up with a bag of popcorn, and the ducks quickly paddle over to her.

"What's in your bag there?" Uther asks.

Arthur reaches inside and shows him what he's purchased.

"I thought as much," he says, nodding slowly while Arthur places the item back in the bag.

"You need to get back to work," Arthur says.

"Probably should do."

"I've moved. Thought you should know."

"I know. Why do you think I called her flat and not yours?"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot about your spies," Arthur says, chuckling a little. "How did you get her number, anyway? You don't even know her last name."

"Arthur, please," Uther says, as if Arthur shouldn't have even had to ask that question.

"Right," Arthur chuckles now.

"I liked those other two paintings, Arthur. And… I appreciate your not showing them to the world."

"Thank you. Not all art is for public viewing, you know."

"I know," he says.

"Oh, and Dad?"

"Yes?"

"One of the jets in your hot tub is clogged."

Uther actually laughs at this information, then stands and walks around behind the bench. He pauses there a moment, then, hesitantly, he places his hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezes it once before turning away to walk across the street to Pendragon Financial.

Arthur sits a while longer, absently reaching for the bag beside him and holds it in his lap as he watches the old lady toss popcorn to the ducks. She talks to them, has names for each one. They quack appreciatively at her, wiggling their chubby bodies, shaking their tails.

He knows he should be in his studio, working on his piece for Mr. Gaius. _In a few minutes,_ he tells himself, taking a mental photograph of the scene before him. The sun shimmering on the pond. The color of the woman's sweater, worn even though it is quite warm out. The texture of the ducks' feathers. The tiny ripples made by the popcorn kernels as they hit the water just before they are snapped up by hungry orange bills.

Eventually he stands and walks to his motorcycle. Uther watches from the window of his high office as Arthur speeds away down the street.

xXx

Gwen goes to Arthur's studio after work after stopping home briefly to discover he wasn't there.

She finds the door unlocked and walks in to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor with a large sketchpad in his lap, drawing, surrounded by pencils of all colors.

"Hi," she says softly, sitting next to him on the floor. She leans over to see what he's working on, kissing his cheek.

"Is that where you met your father today?" she asks.

"Yes," he answers.

"I've never seen you do colored pencil before," she says, waiting for him to open up in his own time. "It's beautiful."

"I don't do it much," he says, still bending over his pad. "But I was… moved to do some today. I got the rough sketch done for Mr. Gaius' piece, too, if you're wondering."

"How long have you been sitting here on the floor?"

"No idea. Bought a watch," he flashes it at her. "But if you don't look at it, it doesn't do any good," he chuckles.

"Cool watch," she says. It's a large silver watch with a black leather band. _Appropriate._

"Thanks."

"So you were moved?"

He reaches over and hands her his mother's sketchpad. Uther left it with him.

"This isn't yours," she says immediately, knowing his work well enough. She flips through it, finding it full of drawings. Colored pencil drawings.

"No. Dad gave it to me today. It was Mum's."

"What?" she looks up at him, shocked.

He finally sets down his pencil. "This," he pokes the pad, "is a big part of the reason why he didn't like me being an artist."

"Because she was?"

"Said it was too painful for him."

"That's really…"

"Stupid, yeah. You would have thought that he would, I don't know, encourage it, to honor her memory by preserving a part of her that she gave to me, right?"

"Wow, yeah," she says. "You've obviously been thinking about this all afternoon."

"Heh," he laughs. "Little bit."

"Did it not go well, then?" she asks, taking his hand.

"That's the weird thing. It did. He apologized. He… he said he was wrong, Guinevere." He lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses them.

"Wow," she says.

Arthur finally goes on to detail his conversation with his father. She can't believe Uther would be so sexist about his wishes for his children when it was so obvious that Morgana is the logical choice to carry on his empire.

"I wish you _had_ called her," she chuckles.

"I know, that would have been good theatre," he says.

"So how did you leave things?"

"Well, he thanked me for not showing those paintings to the world, and he said that he liked them. Then I told him that one of the jets in his hot tub is plugged."

"You didn't!" she yells, dropping his hand so that she can shove him.

"I did, and he actually laughed," Arthur chuckles. "And it's true, there was one plugged one."

"I remember, but now he's going to know we were there…"

He shrugs, unconcerned. "Then he had to go back to work. But before he did, he stood behind me for a moment and then he put his hand on my shoulder."

"Like a hug from him," Gwen remembers. Arthur nods.

"Aaarrgghhh," he sits up straight and stretches. A series of small crackling noises come from his back. "Why the hell am I sitting on the floor?"

"Come on," Gwen stands and grabs his hands, pulling him to his feet. He lifts his pad with him and sets it on the table before sitting on the couch. She perches on the arm and massages his shoulders.

"Oh…" he groans as she presses her thumbs on the back of his neck, sliding them up on either side of his spine.

"So…" he says, talking into his chest as he lets Gwen rub the knots from his back, "I don't know what's going to happen next, but I think we're definitely getting somewhere. Oh yeah, I did tell him that I forgive him and that I needed to do it for me."

"Good."

"I told him that if I didn't, I was afraid I'd end up just like him."

"Arthur, that's kind of low," she says.

"You think?" He lifts his head and turns it slightly to look at her.

"A little. Plus, you'd never end up just like him. You have too much of your mother in you. And you have him as an example of what not to do."

"Well, harsh or not, it was effective. Oh, right there," he directs her fingers when they happen upon a particularly tender spot.

The phone rings and Gwen looks at it. "Weren't you going to cancel that?"

He stands. "Annis wants me to keep it. So I can be reached, you know. She's paying for it, so who cares, right?"

He lifts the phone. "Hello?"

"Morgana, slow down, what's happened?"

" _Okay,_ I'll tell her." Arthur turns to Gwen. "Morgana wants you to pick up the extension in the bedroom. She apparently has something she wants to tell both of us."

Gwen scurries back, lifting the phone.

"Hello," she sings into the phone.

"Gwen! Okay, so you will _never_ believe what just happened."

"What?" Arthur and Gwen both ask.

"Uther's retiring."

" _What?_ " they chorus again.

"Dad. He just called and told me that he's decided to retire. And… oh my God… I'm to be the new CEO of Pendragon Financial! Me!"

"Oh, my God, Morgana, that is amazing!" Gwen exclaims.

"Well done, Mo!" Arthur grins, wondering how much his conversation with his father today had to do with this seemingly sudden decision. "I'm proud of you, Sis."

"Thanks, Arfie," she says.

" _Arfie?_ " Gwen asks, almost shouting.

"Thank _you_ Morgana," Arthur growls into the phone.

"I couldn't say 'Arthur' when I was little," Morgana admits. "Best I could manage until I was about five was 'Arfie.'"

"And she has sworn that she will never use that name again," Arthur fumes. "I'm very sorry, but now I'm going to have to have you killed."

"I won't tell, Arthur," Gwen says, biting back her laughter.

"See? She won't tell. _Anyway,_ this isn't about you. It's about me and my fabulous news. And the best part is I'll be moving back to London!"

"Which means we'll get to see you more!" Gwen says excitedly.

"Did you tell Gwaine yet?" Arthur asks.

"He's my next call," she says.

"He's going to be impossible until you get here, you know. More so than usual."

"I know," she answers, and they can hear the wicked grin in her voice.

"Well, congratulations, Morgana. You completely deserve this honor," Gwen says.

"Thanks, Love. I guess he's been thinking about it for some time now, but he was keeping it to himself. I'm still waiting for reality to sink in. Or for me to wake up," she laughs.

"Yeah, congrats," Arthur adds. "Keep us posted so we know when we can start avoiding you."

"Will do."

"Oh, and Mo? I don't live here anymore, didn't I tell you?"

"Huh? Then why did I find you there?"

"It's my studio now, and I was still here. But officially I've moved in with Guinevere."

"Does Gwen's dad know?"

"Yes," Gwen answers. "He's not thrilled, but neither is he paying my rent."

Morgana laughs at this. "Good girl. All right, I need to call Gwaine. 'Bye, loves."

Gwen hangs up and walks back out. "Wow," she says.

"Gwaine's going to lose his mind," Arthur laughs.

"I know. I'm happy for her. For them, actually. It will make it easier for them to be together."

"Yeah. Hey, this could be good news for Freya, too," Arthur says.

"Oh, my God, you're right! We'll have to tell her to get her résumé ready," Gwen exclaims, touched that Arthur would remember her friend.

"I'm hungry," Arthur declares, looking at his watch. "Oh."

"Come on, Arfie, let's go home," Gwen says, grinning as she sweeps past him.

"Hey! You promised!" he yells.

"I promised I wouldn't _tell,_ I never promised I wouldn't _use!_ " she calls over her shoulder and sprints out the door to her car.

xXx

"So… I bought you something today," Arthur says, back at the flat. Gwen is just putting away the clean dinner dishes, and she jumps slightly when he sneaks up behind her and warps his arms around her.

"Oh?" she asks, feigning only mild interest, extracting herself from his grasp to put a glass in the cupboard.

He follows, his hand caressing her backside as she reaches, squeezing. "Well, it could be something for _us,_ actually."

"Huh?" she turns and looks at him, and he pulls her against him. He ducks his head and kisses her hungrily, and her hands come up to grip his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, pulling her back to the bedroom. "It's back here."

"What on earth…?"

He leads her to the bed and has her lie down. "Close your eyes," he tells her, nuzzling her cheek. She obediently closes them and waits.

Moment later she hears it, and her eyes fly open. "Arthur!"

"Eyes closed!" he orders, but he is laughing. Pressing her lips together, she closes her eyes again.

 _I can't believe he bought one of_ those _for me. For us,_ she thinks, ignoring the fact that way deep down, she's always kind of wanted one.

"Well, I know what it is, Arthur, I can _hear_ it," she protests. "So why do I have to keep my eyes CLOSED!" she yelps the last word when he touches her with it, softly touching her between her legs, its tight vibrations sending a hot thrill through her body.

"This is your punishment for before," she feels him rumble into her ear, then the vibrator touches her breast.

"For… Arfie?" she gasps as he runs it over to her other breast.

"Yes," he says, pressing it to her groin again, a little harder this time.

"Oh!"

He switches it off for a moment, and she opens her eyes. "What…?"

"Need both hands," he explains, unbuttoning her shorts.

"I don't get to hold it?"

"Not at the moment," he smirks, pulling her shorts down, leaning forward to kiss her stomach.

Gwen looks over at it. It's a plain, torpedo-shaped, battery-operated device, pink. It almost looks like a kitchen appliance or a small flashlight.

"Pink?"

"It was either that or blue, which just seemed… wrong," he says, pulling his own shirt off.

Gwen laughs and lets him remove her shirt, tossing it aside before kissing her deeply, gently pushing her back down on the bed. She reaches down and opens his jeans for him, shoving at them until he relents and pulls them off.

Arthur lays down beside her, vibrator back in his hand and a crafty look on his face.

"You look positively devilish," Gwen says, biting her lip.

"And you look positively delicious," he answers, switching the device back on. He leans forward and kisses her again, touching her breast with it, running it around her nipple.

"Ah," Gwen pulls her lips away to gasp. Arthur looks down, watching as he places the vibrator on her other nipple, watching it stiffen in response. He kisses her neck and drags it across her skin, down her stomach, heading for its target.

Gwen's thighs unconsciously open in anticipation, his lips and tongue at the skin of her neck further persuading her.

He touches her with it again, no barriers this time, its blunt tip buzzing against her most sensitive parts, and she nearly shoots from the bed with a breathy shout.

Arthur chuckles, slowly sliding the vibrator along her moist folds, kissing his way down to her breasts.

"Yes," she breathes, moving her hand, placing it over his, guiding the vibrator inside her now. "Oh…"

Arthur slides it in and out a few times while he suckles her, flicking his tongue across her nipple. He withdraws it from her and presses it against her, chuckling as her body jerks again.

"You like it," he whispers, back up by her ear again, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes," she whispers back, her hand groping for him now, fingers searching, finding, and grasping.

"I knew you would," he purrs, rubbing her softly with it, moving it slightly, intensifying the vibrations by adding motion.

"Oh… Oh God…" she gasps, her free hand clutching the sheet, her other hand squeezing him, stroking his shaft.

"Oh! Oh…" she finishes with a shout and a whimper, shoving at his hand and clamping her thighs back together. _Too much._

He chuckles and switches off the vibrator.

"Bloody hell…" she curses lightly, turning onto her side, facing him, kissing him. She sees he's still holding the vibrator in his hand, and she snatches it from him before he can protest.

"Gimme that thing," she says.

"Guinevere, what…?" Arthur asks, surprised.

"You said this was for _us,_ " she grins. "Now it's your turn."

"Where, exactly, are you planning on sticking that?" he asks. "I may like a fair bit of kink, but even I have my limits…"

"I'm not going to _stick_ it anywhere," she laughs, switching it on. She leans over to kiss him and touches his manhood with the vibrator.

"Oh, fuck!" he exclaims, his hands coming up to hold her, clutching lightly at her small body.

"Good?" she asks, running it along the length of his shaft and lower.

"God, yes…" he groans, grabbing her backside in his hand. She bends and kisses him again, still tormenting him with it, pressing it lightly against him, sliding it up and down.

"Guinevere," he croaks her name, squeezing her rear in his hand.

Gwen looks down at him, his eyes closed, his whole body taut, a coiled spring. _So amazingly sexy,_ she finds herself thinking, and suddenly she doesn't want to play any more.

She flips off the vibrator and carelessly tosses it aside, crawling over him.

"Huh?" Arthur's eyes snap open when he is suddenly deprived of the vibrator, but when she replaces the cold hunk of plastic with her warm body, he smiles, pulling her down over him.

"I'm done playing with toys," she whispers against his lips as they kiss. "I want _you_ now."

"Okay," he answers, his hands finding her breasts, his lips finding her lips. She reaches for him again and guides him towards her, lowering her hips over him, drawing him in.

"Oh…" she breathes, a contended sound, and she kisses him hungrily, greedy for him, sucking at his tongue in her mouth while she begins moving over him, stretching her legs back, twining them with his, using his legs to push against, increasing her motions.

Arthur leans up and latches on to a breast, and she holds his head, supporting it for him as he nibbles and licks.

He releases her breast and throws his head back, groaning as he releases into her, trying to still her out of reflex, but he knows she hasn't reached her finish yet.

But she is close, because soft cries are escaping from her now, small lovely whimpers as she drops her forehead against his, eyes closed, her face turned just slightly.

Gwen is moving urgently now, and finally she gasps and clutches his head in her hands, her head still resting there.

Arthur feels the pulsations of her climax, and starts laughing when the contractions of her inner walls actually squeeze him out of her.

"That's new," he says, wrapping his arms around her, and she starts giggling, which only helps expel him from her faster.

"Well, we had a couple new things already, so what's one more?" she asks, kissing his ear, still laying on top of him. She lifts her head. "Where on earth did you purchase that thing, anyway?"

"You're probably better off not knowing," he laughs.

"I'm not squashing you, am I?"

Arthur laughs harder now. "I hardly even notice you're there, Sweet. Well, I mean I certainly _know_ you're lying on top of me, but it's not because of your weight."

"Good. Because I'm quite comfy. One of the benefits of being small," she says, shifting slightly to make herself more comfortable.

"I don't know that I can sleep like this, though," he admits.

"I know."

She lays there a few more minutes, letting him glide his fingers up and down her back a few times. Finally she rolls off and curls up beside him.

"I do love you so much," he whispers to her, kissing her forehead. "I didn't know how much it was possible to love someone until I met you."

"I still don't know how much," Gwen says. "Because it increases every day."

"Every minute," Arthur amends.

"Let's not go overboard," Gwen chuckles sleepily.

He bends his head again and kisses her hair. He lifts her hand from his chest and kisses her fingers.

"Goodnight, my love," he tells her.

"Goodnight… Arfie," she answers, grinning against his chest.

"Stop it!"


	46. Chapter 46

Gwen sorts through the mail, standing just inside the doorway of their flat Wednesday evening. _Bill, junk, junk, bill… what is this?_

 _It's addressed to Arthur. It looks like an invitation._ She ponders it, tempted to open it. She feels the heavy linen paper between her fingers, and turns it over, looking for a return address. None.

_Shit. I hope he'll be home soon. I know…_

_He goes to Sunshine on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he'll be at the studio._ Gwen picks up the phone and dials, hoping he hasn't left already.

"Hello?" he answers, sounding slightly winded.

"Hey."

"Guinevere," he says, and she smiles.

_He always sounds like he's pleasantly surprised._

"I was just on my way out, what's up?"

"Can you pick up some supper? I'm feeling lazy."

"Sure, what would you like?"

"I don't care. Whatever you're in the mood for is fine."

"Um, okay. See you soon, Love."

"'Bye."

 _At least now I know he's on his way home,_ she thinks, glancing at the envelope again. "What do you think, Ig?" she asks, sitting on the couch. Iggy hops into her lap and presses his head into her shoulder, rubbing it under her chin, purring.

"You think you want some love, yes, I know," she says, obliging, rubbing his ears, stroking his chin.

"Are you hungry, Baby?"

He meows and jumps down, padding to the kitchen.

"Of course you are. You are the size of a terrier," she chuckles, following him to the kitchen to open a tin of food for him.

"Though I can't imagine why you find this appetizing," she comments, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the cat food.

"Here you are," she sets his bowl down and then cleans and fills his water bowl. "Any day now, Arthur," she mutters, impatient despite the fact that she made his trip home longer by sending him for food.

Gwen goes back out and flips on the telly. She stares at the news. She changes clothes, straight into pajamas. She grabs the nail polish remover and clippers and takes them back out to the living room with her and removes the polish and tidies up her toes for Arthur to repaint later.

Finally the door opens and Arthur enters with takeaway bags from a curry place.

"Hey," he calls.

"Hey, yourself." Gwen takes the bags from him and sets them aside, lets him kiss her a bit, and goes to unpack their dinner.

"You got cozy right away," he chuckles.

"Told you I was feeling lazy," she says, handing him a napkin as they sit.

"Indeed."

They work on their dinner, taking spoonfuls of the various dishes Arthur's bought. Arthur tells her about his painting for Gaius. Gwen tells him about a rather hilarious and slightly unsettling phone conversation she had with Marcus Ryan.

"Yeah, and then he tried chatting me up," she says. "Or at least I think he did. He told me that I had a very sexy voice."

"Is he _completely_ stupid?" Arthur asks. "He fucking _met_ me. He was at the opening!"

"I know!" Gwen laughs, "I reminded him of that, and I told him that you had a short fuse that was attached to a protective jealous streak when it came to me."

Arthur laughs now. "Good."

"He hung up pretty quickly after that. I mentioned it to Will, too, actually. Thought I should."

"Probably a good idea. Especially if the company isn't entirely happy with him."

"Right," she says. Then she makes her move. "Oh, this came for you today." Gwen reaches behind her and grabs the envelope.

"What is it?" he takes it.

"I don't know. It's addressed to you. Looks like some kind of invitation."

He studies it, flipping it over. "No return address."

"I know. Open it."

He looks at her now. "This has been killing you since you got home, hasn't it?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're practically salivating, Guinevere," he smirks.

"That's the curry."

"Maybe I'll wait till after dinner…" he says, teasing her now, starting to set the envelope down. She snatches it from his hands.

"Oh, no, you don't," she says, opening it now while he laughs at her. Inside the outer envelope is another, inner envelope. "Do you know anyone who might be getting married?" she asks. "It looks like a wedding invite."

"Don't think so," he answers, leaning over now.

The inner envelope says _Arthur & Gwen_. "Okay, so now this is weird," Gwen says, opening the second envelope now. "Oh. Your father is having a retirement party a week from Saturday," she says, a bit surprised.

"And he invited _me? us?_ "

"It seems so," she holds it out to him. "Week from Saturday."

He takes it. "At his club. Of course. Shit, that means I'll have to get a coat, at least."

"You don't have one?"

"Not since my days at public school," he grins.

"Right," she says, chuckling. Then she stops abruptly. "Shit," she echoes him now, "I probably don't have anything suitable to wear, either. I'm not accustomed to running with the posh set."

"I'm sure you have something, Love. Otherwise, go shopping with Freya and find something."

"I notice you're not volunteering to shop with me," she smirks.

"Dear God, no. I'd rather pluck my own nose hairs," he answers.

"Gross," she declares. "Good thing I'm done eating."

"Bah, you're not squeamish, don't give me that nonsense," he laughs. "You took your polish off," he suddenly says, looking down at her feet when she stands.

"Yes. Something for you to do later."

"Oh, good," he says, standing and helping clear. He walks to the kitchen and the phone rings.

"I'll get that," he says, setting his plate in the sink.

"Hello? …Yes, we did. I think so, yeah. Sweet?" Arthur calls, "We are planning on going to that party, right?"

"Yes, Arthur, that's why I'm freaking out about dresses."

"Yes, we are. Oh. Hang on, I'll get her.” He begins to pull the phone away from his ear, but he is hailed back. "What?" he returns to the phone before he can pass it off to Gwen. "Not yet… I don't know. Hang on." He places his hand over the mouthpiece. "Guinevere, Ms. Pendragon would like a word," Arthur announces.

"Be right there," she calls, turning the water off. "Go do the dishes, then," she tells him, taking the phone and kissing him.

"Bugger," he grumbles, stomping to the kitchen.

"You tell him, Gwen," Morgana laughs on the other end.

"Hi," Gwen laughs with her.

"I'm coming to town Saturday to look at places to live. I thought we could go dress shopping after," Morgana says.

"Oh!" Gwen exclaims, suddenly even more petrified. _Dress shopping with Morgana Pendragon?_ "Um, yeah, that would be great," she answers, hopefully sounding excited instead of terrified.

"Gwen, relax," Morgana laughs.

 _Guess not._ "Sorry," Gwen says, "I'm just a bit overwhelmed. I've never been to a fancy event like this before. Actually, I would really love your help."

"Great. I'll be done by noon. We can have lunch and then we'll shop."

"Sounds… fun, actually," Gwen says, then has a thought. "Morgana, can I invite…"

"Oh, my God!" Morgana cuts her off. "Yes, _do_ invite that little friend of yours who has our Merlin all tied up in knots! We'll have a proper girls' day!"

Gwen laughs then, deep down knowing Freya will be completely horrified at having a "girls' day" with the woman who hopefully will be her future boss. _She'll do it for me, though._

"Great," Gwen says, smiling.

"Oh, and I'll be sending Arthur out shopping that day, too, with Gwaine."

"Gwaine? Is he really the best person for that job?"

"Merlin has no fashion sense," Morgana declares. "Do you ever notice he basically wears very minor variations on the same bloody thing every day?"

Gwen laughs. "Yeah, I have. Freya is planning on doing something about that, actually. But you trust Gwaine to help Arthur choose something appropriate? I mean, I know you love him and all, and I love Arthur, too, obviously, but… it's _Gwaine._ "

Morgana laughs loudly now, and Gwen has to pull the phone away from her ear. "No, I don't trust Gwaine," she answers. "But I trust Jamison."

"Who is Jamison?"

"The menswear clark at Harrod's who will be holding three suits for Arthur to choose from. Three suits that _I_ will be selecting in advance."

"Of course," Gwen laughs.

"All right. I'll pick you up Saturday, then."

"I'm going to call Freya right now," Gwen says.

"Give my baby brother a hug for me."

"Will do," Gwen says, and hangs up.

"What was that about?" Arthur asks, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Arthur, we have towels," Gwen chides him. "Morgana is taking me shopping on Saturday. And I'm taking Freya along."

She picks up the phone and dials.

xXx

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Freya says to Gwen on Saturday, just before noon.

"It'll be fine, Fray," Gwen assures her.

"It's Morgana bloody Pendragon, Gwen. You do remember that I've been preparing my résumé in the hopes of securing a job with Pendragon Financial once she takes over, don't you?"

"Exactly why you need to meet her," Gwen pokes her friend in the shoulder. "Give you a leg up."

"Or make me look like a kiss-ass," Freya protests.

There is a knock at the door, and Gwen goes to open it.

"Gwen!" Morgana exclaims, hugging her, looking around the flat. "Cute place. I see you haven't let my brother invade _too_ much," she laughs.

"It helps that he has his old flat as a studio space now," Gwen says, "keeps most of the art mess there. Morgana, this is my friend, Freya Olson. Freya, Morgana Pendragon."

"Nice to meet you," Freya says, holding her hand out.

Morgana ignores the offered hand and hugs her instead, making Freya jump. "Any woman willing to date Merlin deserves a hug," she laughs.

Freya cannot help but laugh as well, knowing that Morgana, like Arthur, has known Merlin for most of her life and probably loves him like another brother.

"Thanks for allowing me to tag along," Freya says.

"Wouldn't be a proper girls' day with just two, would it? Besides, I'm sure Gwen trusts your opinion more than she does mine, anyway," she laughs.

"Well, I have known her longer," Gwen jokes, reaching for her purse.

They walk outside and are confronted with a huge silver Rolls-Royce idling on the curb.

"Morgana, when you said you'd pick me up, I wasn't expecting a _driver,_ " Gwen says, stopping.

"You don't honestly expect me to drive _myself_ all the way down from Glasgow, now, do you?"

"I suppose not," Gwen laughs. _I don't know that I'll ever truly get used to her._

They chat over lunch, Freya and Morgana growing more comfortable with each other, laughing together as Morgana regales her with stories of Merlin when he was younger, Freya gradually leaking small details about their relationship.

Finally Morgana can take it no longer. "So, Freya. Is Merlin… a _good_ boyfriend?"

"Good? Yes, he's wonderful, really. He would literally bend over backwards to make me happy if that is what I asked," she answers.

"I've no doubt of that, but… I'm sorry, I simply _must_ know," she leans over close.

 _Here it comes,_ Gwen thinks, having a very good idea about what Morgana is going to ask.

"How is your… _love life_ with him?"

"Um," Freya hesitates, biting her lip and looking to Gwen for help.

"Sorry, Love, I can't help you," Gwen says. "I did warn you that she is quite blunt sometimes."

Morgana laughs now. "Come on, wouldn't you be curious? I mean, he's my brother's best friend. So _naturally_ I'd be curious about this. You know…"

"You fancied Merlin?" Freya asks.

"Once upon a time, I might have had a little crush, yes. Now my curiosity is just that, though. Curiosity. I promise. I've got Gwaine wrapped around my little finger, what more do I need?"

"Good point," Gwen allows.

"Gwen, you've got a brother, back me up here. Didn't he have a friend or two that, shall we say, piqued your interest?"

Gwen thinks. "Well, he's two years younger than me, so it's not _quite_ the same thing," she hedges.

"Pete," Freya says.

"Oh, shit, I forgot about Pete," Gwen says, her eyes growing wide.

"Pete?" Morgana asks.

"One of Elyan's mates. A drummer."

"Yummy," Morgana declares.

"I _know,_ " Gwen agrees. "He had these _arms_ that were not to be believed on a 16-year-old…" she trails off, remembering. "He was dumb, though. But cute. And built."

"Sounds like a good combination to me," Morgana declares saucily. "And I'm certain your brother took notice of one or two of your friends as well, yes?"

Freya, not having learned to not drink while Morgana is speaking, chokes on her water and almost sprays the table.

"Oho, there's a story!" Morgana exclaims once Freya has recovered.

"Yes, there is, and he's still carrying a bit of a torch even now," Gwen laughs. "Tell her, Fray."

"Oh, God," she starts. "It was the first time I spent the weekend at Gwen's house when we were at university. Elyan was sixteen."

"Almost seventeen," Gwen adds.

"Doesn't matter," Freya shoots back, laughing. "He visited the room I was sleeping in one night and offered to let me make a man of him."

"He did not!" Morgana nearly shouts, laughing. "Gwen, please tell me you have a picture of your brother, I need to see what young Casanova looks like."

"I think I do, hang on," she says, digging into her purse now. "Aha," she pulls out a photo and hands it to Morgana.

"Recent?"

"Took it while I was visiting him this summer."

"Hello, darling," Morgana says to the photo. "He's cute. You have the same eyes."

"And that's about it," Gwen chuckles.

"So," Morgana looks at Freya again, handing the photo back to Gwen. "Spill. Because if our Merlin is not a good lover, I will have to find him and slap him around a bit, you know."

"He's very sweet," Freya finally relents, knowing there's no way out of it. "Loving. Giving." Her eyes go a bit soft as she thinks about him.

"Well, he would be, wouldn't he?" Morgana agrees, smiling fondly.

"And surprisingly passionate," Freya adds.

"Really?" Morgana and Gwen chorus.

"Yes, really. I was surprised, too. He's very… expressive. Maybe because he's a writer, who knows? But he makes me feel like I am not only the only woman in the world but also the most beautiful and desirable woman in the world. Like he exists only for me."

"Wow," Morgana sighs.

"He's very private, isn't he?" Gwen asks. "Like you are the only person that sees that side of him."

"Yes, how did you know?" Freya asks.

"Arthur is exactly the same way. I know I see a side of him that no one else sees."

"Why are men like that?" Morgana asks, and the other two immediately know that Gwaine has an unseen side as well.

"Too busy being men, I guess," Gwen laughs.

"Well, Freya, I am very happy for you. Merlin is the best ever. He's like another brother, really."

"I gathered that," Freya smiles.

"And speaking of questions on my mind, Gwen…"

"Uh oh," Gwen says.

"No, I do _not_ want to know about my brother's skills in the bedroom. I already know more than I want to in that area. What I am wondering about is how he is keeping his flat and living with you?"

"He didn't tell you?" Gwen says.

"Tell me what?"

"He has a… I guess it would be a benefactor. Benefactress, to be exact."

"Oh?" Morgana's eyebrows lift, intrigued.

"Have you ever heard the name Annis Caerleon?"

"Um… no."

"Well, I hadn't either. But she's decided that Arthur is her next protégé. She's officially an art dealer, but she has taken Arthur under her wing. She's paying the rent on his flat. And the phone."

"And this doesn't trouble you, that this woman is so heavily involved in his life now?"

"Not at all," Gwen waves the insinuation away. "Annis is lovely, and she and I get on famously. She's very smart. Shrewd. She bought a bunch of his work, and has already sold one. The big collage."

"Oh?"

"To a spa in Bath, even," Freya adds.

"Which one?"

"Don't know, sorry. I'll find out, though," Gwen promises. "Annis is actually just the person Arthur needs to gain recognition. She has connections all over the world."

"Hmm," Morgana nods, thinking.

"There's nothing funny going on, Morgana. Annis is actually rather… motherly toward him."

"Oh, she's a lot older?"

"Yes. And Lance has known her for years."

"Oh. I'm sorry for the insinuation, Gwen, really. I'm just looking out for my brother. And you."

"I know."

Morgana gestures to the waiter for their check. "Lunch is on me, ladies, and no arguments. I invited you out, I'm paying."

"But I invited Freya," Gwen teases.

"No, you were _about_ to invite Freya and I beat you to it, I think you'll find," Morgana grins at them.

She hands the waiter her credit card without looking at the bill. When he returns, she pauses a moment, figuring the tip.

"Three pounds," Freya says before she can help herself, then rattling off the total. Accurately. Without having seen the bill.

Morgana looks up, shocked.

"Sorry," Freya turns beet red.

"No, don't be. How the _hell_ did you do that?"

"Just something I can do," she shrugs.

"Didn't I tell you, Morgana? Freya is amazing with numbers."

Morgana puts down the numbers, signs the bill and then looks at Freya. "Where do you work?"

"I'm a teller at Albion Bank," Freya says, trying not to make too much of a face.

"Hmm," Morgana noncommittally says, and stands.

 _She learned that from Uther,_ Gwen thinks, biting back her grin.

"Let's go shopping," Morgana declares.

xXx

The day of the party arrives, and Morgana appears at their door.

"We're going to the salon," she tells Gwen. Orders.

"What?"

"You and Me. We're going to have our hair done. And nails."

"Morgana…" Gwen starts to protest, though she knows it's hopeless.

Arthur shuffles out from the kitchen, still clad in his shorts though they had just finished lunch.

"It walks!" Morgana declares. "You're really putting an effort into the day, Arthur."

"No point in getting dressed until I have to get _dressed,_ Mo," he shrugs, bending and kissing her offered cheek.

"You stink," she declares.

"Haven't showered yet, obviously."

"Well, have done by the time we get back," she declares. "Gwen, go put on a shirt you won't have to take off over your head later."

"Um, okay…" she says.

"Gwen, the salon is my treat, by the way," Morgana calls after her.

"No it bloody isn't!" Gwen yells back.

"It will be once you see how much it's going to cost," she sings back, laughing.

"Mo, don't push her," Arthur warns. "She's freaked out enough about tonight, don't make her feel like she's your charity case on top of that."

"But I _want_ to treat her," Morgana explains.

"Morgana," Arthur says, taking her hand, "she's not the type of person who's friendship you have to buy. She likes you. For _you._ "

Morgana's face grows tight for a minute, but then she blinks back the very beginnings of tears that wouldn't even be noticed by someone other than her twin brother. She smiles at him and squeezes his hand. Then she reaches into her purse and hands him a box.

"What is this, now?" Arthur asks.

"Just something to quell the urge you will undoubtedly have to wear your necktie as a belt, my dear," Morgana says airily, just as Gwen appears wearing a button-down blouse.

"What's that?" Gwen asks, coming over to look as Arthur opens the box.

"A tie tack," Arthur says, grinning. It is indeed a tie tack, but it is in the shape of a tiny skull and crossbones, all encrusted with rhinestones except for the eyes, which are rubies.

"That's really cool," Gwen declares.

"Those aren't real diamonds, are they?" Arthur asks, hoping they aren't.

"Rhinestones."

"Good."

Morgana looks at her watch. "Shit. We need to go."

"We will discuss the matter of payment on the way, Morgana," Gwen sternly says as the two women walk out the door.

"That's my girl," Arthur says after the door is closed.

Gwen returns two hours later, hair and nails done. Makeup, too.

"Holy shit, Guinevere," is all that Arthur can say.

"You like it?"

"I like it very much," he says, walking over to her, checking out her hair, which is half up with the rest cascading down her back in soft curls.

"They wanted to put it all up, but I had them leave some long because I know you like it that way," she says.

He buries his nose into her neck. "Doesn't smell right," he complains.

"Of course not, they don't have the same products I do, silly," she says, gently pushing him away.

"I suppose I can't kiss you," he pouts.

"No, you'll ruin my lipstick."

"Hmph," he snorts, bending to kiss her neck instead, nudging his way inside her collar.

"Don't start that or you'll ruin my hair as well," she giggles as he continues to kiss.

"But your nails will be fine," he mutters against her.

" _Arthur._ "

He lifts his head. "Fine. Let's go get dressed. We need to leave soon."

"You're not wearing your nose ring?" she asks as he follows her back to the bedroom.

"It's been bugging me lately. Since that cold. I'm thinking of ditching it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, when I put it back in, it just didn't feel right. Kind of uncomfortable. Weird?"

"Maybe; I don't know much about nose jewelry, I'm afraid." She pulls her dress out of the wardrobe, covered in a plastic garment bag, tied at the bottom. She wouldn't let Arthur see it, so in return, he wouldn't let her see his suit, either.

He tries peeking, but all he sees is a flash of black silk before she scurries off to the bathroom with it, giggling maniacally.

"Guinevere…" he calls after her, exasperated.

"Just get dressed!" she yells back through the closed door.

Arthur is struggling with the cufflink on his right wrist when she emerges, barefoot still but in the black silk he saw earlier.

He drops the cufflink to the floor. The dress is simple, black silk, fitted with a straight but flowing skirt. He stares at the one completely bare shoulder, exposed by an asymmetrical neckline that covers one shoulder, arm bare.

"Wow," he croaks. She bends to pick up the silver cufflink and affixes it in his right cuff.

"Thank you," she says, and then reaches up to straighten his tie.

"That dress is unfair…"

"To whom?"

"Me. I'm going to have this," he reaches up to caress the bare shoulder, "staring at me all night."

Gwen just smiles and removes the skull tie tack from its box and pins it to his tie, which has a wide diagonal stripe, black on black, the stripe almost indistinguishable.

"Not to mention we'll be in a room with a bunch of rich wankers who won't know who you are and—"

"If you finish that sentence with 'who you belong to' I am going to take this tie tack back off and stab you with it," she threatens.

Arthur closes his mouth and reaches for his coat, which, like his trousers, are the blackest black Gwen has ever seen.

"I like the red shirt, Arthur. Unique touch."

"I thought so. The bloke at Harrod's was very helpful," he says, and Gwen chuckles.

"What?"

"Hmm?"

"Guinevere, what do you know?"

"He gave you three suits to choose from?"

"Yes, how did you…? Morgana."

"You didn't honestly think she'd let you and Gwaine go shopping _unsupervised,_ did you?"

He pouts again, and Gwen brings her hand to his face, feeling his smooth cheek, only just shaved that afternoon (they had done his head the night before).

"Don't be cross, she's just happy that Uther wants you to come and wants you to make a good impression."

"I know," he sighs, then looks down at her again. "God, you look beautiful."

"I'd better; this thing is Chanel. I plan on being buried in it when I die."

xXx

"Name?" They are greeted rather haughtily by a weed with a thin mustache in a grey suit.

"Arthur Pendragon and Guinevere Degrance," Arthur answers with equal disdain.

"Pendragon?" the man asks skeptically.

"Yes. So I'd appreciate it if you'd drop the attitude."

"This way, _sir._ "

"Oh, _much_ better," Arthur says sarcastically. Gwen slaps his arm.

They are shown to a private room in the back, Gwen drawing many looks as they walk through.

"This is one of those ridiculous clubs that doesn't normally allow women, isn't it?" Gwen quietly asks.

"Yeah, stupid sexist idiots."

They enter the room, and Arthur scans the crowd. One or two familiar faces jump out at him. He doesn't spot Morgana yet. _Of course not. She'll be wanting to make an entrance, no doubt._

Any fears Gwen had about being overdressed are immediately dashed. Morgana was completely accurate with her help, assuring her that she would be perfectly attired.

Arthur catches his father's eyes across the room. "Let's get this over with," he mutters to Gwen, taking her hand in his as he crosses the room.

He ignores the surprised mutterings as he strides through the crowd. Those that know who he is are surprised he is here; those that don't know who he is wonder if he is in the wrong place.

"Father," he says, loudly and clearly as he approaches Uther, in a grey pinstripe suit and red tie.

"Arthur, good of you to come," Uther answers, extending his hand, fully aware that everyone is watching them.

Arthur takes his father's hand and shakes it. "And of course you remember Guinevere," he indicates Gwen.

"Hello," she says, smiling, and extends her hand.

"Of course, how could I forget her? Hello again, Gwen," Uther smiles. He takes her hand and lifts it, bending down to kiss her hand.

"Oh," Gwen blinks, surprised.

"When a beautiful young lady strides into your home and yells at you, it is not something easily forgotten," he says, smiling at her.

 _Is he teasing Guinevere?_ Arthur cannot believe his ears.

"Oh… about that… I'm… I'm sorry for that, sir," she stammers, blushing.

"Gwen," he says, looking down at her. "No need to apologize. You were right. I guess sometimes it just takes a fresh perspective to see the truth of things." He smiles sadly, apologetically, at Arthur.

"Yes, well, I'm still sorry I yelled," Gwen smiles.

"Champagne?" a waiter approaches with a tray.

"Yes, thank you," Arthur says, taking two glasses and handing one to Gwen.

Another older gentleman approaches cautiously and politely clears his throat.

"Ah, Godwin, you remember Arthur," Uther turns to his Executive Vice-President.

"I thought that was you, Arthur," Godwin says, smiling, shaking Arthur's hand.

"It is, yes. Good to see you," Arthur says. "Godwin, this is my girlfriend, Guinevere Degrance. Gwen, this is Father's Executive VP, Godwin Gawant."

"Hello," Gwen nods, smiling.

"Degrance," Godwin says, thinking. "There's a Tom Degrance at Scotland Yard. Detective Inspector I believe. Any relation?"

"Yes, he's my father!" Gwen exclaims, surprised. "How do you know him?"

"My brother is Commander Simon Gawant."

"Oh, goodness, I know him!" Gwen laughs. "Father speaks highly of him."

"Well, that's good news," Godwin chuckles. "It would have been awkward indeed if your father thought poorly of him."

Gwen chuckles her agreement just as a commotion at the doors takes everyone's attention.

"Ah, Morgana must be arriving," Uther says, sounding as unimpressed as he can, but his pride still manages to show through in his eyes.

Morgana strides through the doors on Gwaine's arm, breathtaking in a long red gown shot through with metallic gold thread. It is high-necked but her shoulders and arms are bare, skimming her slender body.

She looks like some kind of otherworldly red-and-gold snake as she slinks through the crowd, greeting some, ignoring others. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, sleek and shiny, simple, not taking attention from the dress.

"Father," she gushes, embracing him and air-kissing both his cheeks so as not to ruin her blood-red lipstick.

"Hello, darling, you look beautiful," Uther says indulgently. "Patrick," he nods at Gwaine.

Gwen snorts at Uther's greeting to Gwaine. _He sounds just like my father addressing Arthur._

"Mr. Pendragon," Gwaine courteously answers, offering his hand, which Uther politely shakes.

"Daddy, be nice to Gwaine," Morgana says. "Remember, he does have money," she whispers in his ear, patting his shoulder. Then, for good measure, she adds, "And he loves me, so even if he didn't, too bad."

Uther sighs, resigned to his fate. Arthur grins, basking in being right about his sister and her values.

Morgana motions the waiter over and takes champagne for herself and Gwaine.

"Hey, Gwaine," Arthur nods at his friend.

"Drag. You look passable."

"You, too. I'm not saying I'd do you, but you're not disgusting."

Gwaine toasts Arthur, takes a drink, then turns his attention to Gwen.

"Dear God, Sparrow, you look completely edible," he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you, Gwaine, you look quite fetching yourself, there. Is that new?" she fingers his lapel.

"What, this old thing?" he laughs. "Yeah, I got it when Drag bought his. Then we had to go watch rugby and drink beer and beat each other up until we felt like proper men again."

"Gwaine, really," Morgana turns from her conversation with Godwin, having heard his dissertation.

"All right, children, dinner is about to be served, go find your seats," Uther says, actually sounding like a proper father. Arthur can barely contain his shock, but Gwen pulls him by the elbow before he can make any comment.

They thankfully are seated with Morgana and Gwaine, but also with a few other random people that Morgana knows and Arthur is not especially interested in. They make polite conversation, though, and they ask about Arthur's and Gwen's lines of work, and at least pretend to be interested. Gwaine voluntarily announces that he owns a tattoo shop, making one young lady almost choke on her champagne. Gwen clenches her jaw, holding back her giggles and clutches Arthur's thigh under the table to remind him to keep his mouth closed as well. Morgana, however, laughs openly, but does ask if the woman is all right.

Appetizers arrive, shrimp cocktail. Gwen stares at hers while the others dig in.

"Something wrong, Guinevere?" Arthur asks quietly as he sees her sitting politely with her hands in her lap. "I know you like shrimp; I've seen you eat it," he says, puzzled.

"I don't care for it cold," she says, a little embarrassed.

Arthur chuckles, noticing Gwaine's head turn toward Gwen. Arthur reaches over and takes two of the shrimp perched on Gwen's glass and nods, grinning, at Gwaine, who liberates the other two.

"Problem solved," Gwaine declares, grasping the shrimp's tail and biting the rest.

Gwen chuckles, grateful to Arthur and Gwaine for saving her. She hates wasting food, even in a posh establishment like this.

Lentil soup, followed by a mixed green salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing.

"Apparently we're getting all of Dad's favorites tonight," Arthur observes.

"You expected different?" Morgana laughs.

Cornish game hens, potatoes, and vegetables are the main course. Champagne flows freely, so freely, in fact that Gwen finds herself asking for water after the second (or third?) glass.

Gwen can only eat half her hen, but once again Arthur and Gwaine pick over the remains, helping themselves to her plate once it's clear she's done, then moving on to Morgana's as well.

"Careful, darling, you won't have room for dessert," Gwen warns.

Arthur laughs. "Always room for that, I promise you."

"And probably half of mine as well," she rolls her eyes. He takes her hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing it.

As predicted by Arthur, dessert is crème brulee, Uther's favorite. Turns out it is also Gwen's favorite, so Arthur gets no extra helping. She licks the last bit of custard from her spoon, taunting him.

"You're going to pay for that later," he mutters, grinning fiendishly.

"Oh?" she says, then leans over and whispers something in Arthur's ear that makes his eyes wide and his cheeks pink.

At the end of dessert, a man with white hair and beard starts tapping a glass with his butter knife.

"That's my dad's personal assistant, Geoffrey," he tells Gwen.

"He's retiring as well. Probably figures I'd want my own PA," Morgana adds.

"And I'm betting he's right about that," Gwaine comments, reaching for Morgana's hand.

"Of course."

Uther stands and holds his hands up, preparing to speak.

"Keep it short, Uther," Arthur mutters, toying with Gwen's fingers.

"All right, I suppose I should say a word or two," he says, his voice clear. "Thank you all for coming tonight. I know that many of you were shocked to learn of my decision to retire, thinking it a hastily-made decision, even questioning my health."

There are some quiet murmurings of agreement through the group.

"But I assure you, I am in perfect health and am still as sharp as ever," he taps his temple and smiles surprisingly charmingly, "and retiring is something I have been quietly mulling over for some time now."

He takes a drink of water, and continues. "I've fully realized that my darling daughter Morgana has been more than ready to take the helm of this massive ship for some time now, and I have every confidence in her to continue to lead Pendragon Financial towards a prosperous future." He lifts his glass. "To Morgana," he toasts, and the crowd echoes him.

Morgana smiles demurely and nods her head once, then blows a kiss to her father.

"And finally, you have all known me long enough and well enough to know that I don't sugarcoat things or tiptoe around things." Arthur freezes as he sees Uther's eyes lock on him. "Many of you know my son Arthur, or know of him, and know that he hasn't been around much these past years. I would like to publicly say to you all that the cause of his absence falls squarely on my shoulders, and I could not be happier that he has decided to join us this evening. I could not in good conscience pass into retirement without both of my children here with me, supporting me."

Gwen carefully dabs her eyes with her napkin, inwardly cringing as her mascara leaves black marks on the white linen. She caught the sadness, the apology in Uther's eyes and is sure that Arthur did as well. She reaches over and squeezes his hand, and sees his jaw clench once as he holds his emotions in check.

Godwin stands now, placing his hand on Uther's shoulder. "Thank you, Uther. We are all grateful for your years of service and leadership. Thank you for this party, thank you for Morgana – and Arthur – and thank you, most importantly for your inexhaustible wealth!" he jokes, and everyone laughs. "My friend, on behalf of everyone here, we all wish you nothing but happiness in your retirement. Enjoy every moment, whether you travel the world or simply stay at home, one day bouncing grandchildren on your knee."

Gwen blushes, Arthur coughs softly in surprise, and Morgana and Gwaine stare at each other, wide-eyed and shocked.

"To Uther Pendragon," Godwin raises his glass. Everyone toasts Uther's health.


	47. Chapter 47

"That was a very naughty thing you did, Guinevere," Arthur purrs in her ear in the taxi home.

"Whatever are you talking about, Arthur?" she innocently asks, placing her hand on his thigh, not so innocently rubbing it with her palm.

"Telling me during dessert that you aren't wearing any knickers," he whispers in her ear, his tongue snaking out to flick at it, nibbling lightly.

Gwen just giggles, and he moves lower to kiss her neck and down to that bare shoulder. "Are you really not?" he asks, his hand on her knee, pushing her skirt out of the way to feel her skin.

"What do you think?" she asks, lifting her hand to caress his cheek.

"Well, I've never known you to lie before," he says, sliding his hand higher. His hand is deliciously hot against her skin, but she puts her hand over it, stopping him.

"You are _not_ going investigating while we're in this cab," she warns, and he lifts his face from her neck and gives her an innocent look.

"Nah, please, by all means, proceed," the cabbie calls over his shoulder, winking at them in the rear view mirror.

Gwen makes an exasperated noise and shoves Arthur now, firmly pulling her skirt down over her knees.

"Thanks, mate," Arthur says sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm just as disappointed as you are," the driver says.

"There is no way possible that _that_ is true," Arthur says back. He creeps his hand across to rest it on Gwen's knee again, over the skirt this time.

"Here we are then," he announces, pulling in front of their flat. Arthur pays the driver, then gets out and runs around to open the door for Gwen, taking her hand to assist her.

"Enjoy your night, kids," the driver calls impishly before Arthur shuts the door with a muttered "Piss off."

"Hey, you've got no one to blame but yourself," Gwen laughs at him and runs to the door.

 _She is surprisingly fast in those heels,_ he thinks, following her up to the door to unlock it.

He opens the door and allows her to enter, reaching out with his hand to caress her backside as she passes.

"Bloody hell, Guinevere, you _aren't_ wearing any!" he practically shouts, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Gwen laughs and gives Iggy a little pat.

"You know what the funny part actually is?" Arthur asks, on her in an instant, his arms wrapping around her waist, sliding his palms on the silk of her dress.

"What's that?"

"I actually _am_ wearing underpants tonight."

Gwen bursts forth laughing, and her laughter turns into a squeal as she finds herself hoisted into his arms and carried back to the bedroom.

He drops her gently on the bed, sliding his hands down to her feet, taking her shoes off now. They are simple pumps, black peep-toe, her lavender painted toenails just peeking out.

_"Just to drive my brother a little crazy," Morgana had declared, cementing Gwen's decision._

"Come over here," Gwen says, beckoning him with her finger once his shoes join hers on the floor.

"But…"

"Come here, Arthur," her voice drops to that velvety register that Arthur cannot resist and he sits beside her as she sits up.

She slides her hands on his chest, upwards, easing his coat from his shoulders and setting it on a chair. He leans in and kisses her, a little greedy.

 _He tastes of champagne and dessert._ Gwen pulls back and carefully removes the tie tack, placing it on the bedside table before reaching up to loosen his tie, pulling it free.

Arthur leans in and kisses her again, trying for longer, deeper. Still she stops him, lifting his hand, removing one cufflink, then the other and placing them beside the pin.

She reaches for his buttons and he begins nibbling her ear, mindful of the simple pearl drop earrings, the only touch of jewelry she wore tonight, his hot breath sending chills through her as it puffs gently on her neck.

Gwen's hands creep inside his shirt, pulling it open, un-tucking it the rest of the way. He sighs at the feel of her hands on his skin, and drops his head lower to suck lightly at the skin of her neck.

"Arthur, you are being very… distracting," Gwen says, her hands groping for his belt now that she's gotten his shirt off.

"Then I'm doing it right," he says, his lips never leaving her skin, his one hand now halfway up her thigh beneath her dress.

She manages to get both his belt and trousers open, so finally he stands, dropping the trousers to the floor, standing for a moment in his boxers.

Gwen giggles. Arthur pouts.

"I'm sorry, Love, it's just… I'm not used to seeing you in…" she giggles. "At least they're black…"

He twists his lips to the side in frustration, but then Gwen stands and slides her hands around his torso, hugging him tightly, kissing his chest. Arthur's hands grope her body, searching for a zipper.

"How on earth do you get this thing off?" he asks. Gwen smiles and lifts her left arm, the one with no strap.

"Zipper on the side."

She caresses his cheek as he eases the zipper down, and he lowers his head to kiss her shoulder again.

A small push to the right shoulder of her dress and it slithers downward, the silk like water as it pools around her feet. She bends to pick it up and lay it over the chair, and Arthur knows better than to protest her practicality at this time.

Gwen quickly removes her earrings, setting them with his cufflinks and tie tack and is back in an instant, removing his boxers now. Arthur kicks them agitatedly across the floor.

Gwen snorts. "The socks _must_ go, Arthur."

Arthur looks down at his black-clad feet. "Right," he laughs as they both fall onto the bed and he whips the socks from his feet, tossing them in the general direction of his boxers.

Gwen sighs, but her fleeting irritation over the mess he is making is forgotten as his lips press softly against hers.

"You were brilliant tonight," he whispers as his lips travel over her skin, leaving fire in their wake. "Everyone loved you."

"You want to discuss this _now,_ Arthur?" she asks, her hands gently holding his head, hooking one leg around him as he moves over her, now closing his lips around a straining nipple, groaning low in the back of his throat.

 _Conversation over._ Gwen smiles and lets her eyes drift closed, her head falling back into the pillows, no longer concerned about her hair.

"Arthur," she sighs his name, her hands thrown over her head now, letting him worship her, letting herself enjoy his attention.

His hand moves down to touch her, fingers sliding easily along her wetness as he moves his lips to her other breast, opening his eyes briefly to gaze up at her.

_She is amazing._

As if she can sense him watching her, Gwen opens her eyes and smiles at him. "I love you, Arthur," she says softly, breathily.

"I love you, Guinevere," he answers, softly kissing the skin between her breasts. He slides one finger inside her then, and her lips part with a silent gasp of pleasure.

Arthur smiles, satisfied but not smug, finally drawing her other nipple into his mouth, his tongue sending shivers of pleasure downward her while his fingers send them up.

"Please," she whispers, pressing her hips upward, against his hand, reaching down for him now.

"Oh," he grunts when she finds him, stroking gently but not too much so, tugging him carefully towards her waiting thighs.

Arthur finds his way between her legs, leaning forward to kiss her, closing his hand over her wrist and bringing it back over her head with the other, capturing them there, holding her, his willing captive as he lowers his hips and joins himself to her, entering her, the feeling no less decadent than it was the first day they met.

He leans on his hand not holding hers, letting that one bear his weight while he delves into her again and again, watching her as she writhes deliciously beneath him.

Gwen's breathing is growing ragged, and her arms strain against his one immovable hand holding them in place. The sensation is slightly thrilling, not unlike being tied, but somehow more interesting because it's his hand holding her wrists, not a scarf.

Suddenly he releases her hands and she opens her eyes in surprise, exclaiming, "Oh!"

"Moving," he growls low, still thrusting with long, languid strokes. He pauses and leans back, holding her thighs now, pulling her with him as he lifts onto his knees.

Arthur moves her legs in front of him, resting both against his chest, holding her hips, her backside, supporting her in this new position.

He turns his head and kisses her foot, flicking his tongue against her toes. Her legs are just far enough apart that he is able to move one hand around and rub small circles against her, bringing her closer, faster, and soon her urgency matches his and they are both gasping and crying out, calling out each other's names as they crash down together.

Arthur moves her legs back down, his breathing still heavy, carefully sliding out of her, collapsing beside her and immediately gathering her close, as if he cannot bear to be parted from her for even an instant.

Gwen can only smile as she idly places small kisses on his neck, shoulder, and chest. His hands skim her hip and back as he holds her.

"You really are amazing, do you know that?" he finally says.

"So you tell me," she answers, and he chuckles. "Did you have a good time tonight? At the party, I mean."

"It was very strange, really. But yes, I did. I'm very glad you were with me."

"It was actually good having Gwaine there, too," Gwen observes, capturing his hand with her own, threading her immaculate red-lacquered fingers in between his.

"Yeah," he says. "Who would have thought?"

Gwen chuckles. "You didn't seem uneasy or uncomfortable at all, even though I'm sure you heard the same mutterings that I did."

"Yes, well, you know I have no time for the small-minded," he says casually. "You were there with me. That's all that mattered to me; having you at my side." He bends his head and kisses the top of her head. She lifts her face to him and he kisses her lips.

"I can do anything if you're with me," he whispers to her, kissing her again, slowly, softly at first, then gradually growing and building until they are once again grasping for each other. Needing each other.

xXx

"So what was this Merlin was saying about your needing my help with a tattoo? You don't even work here anymore, Arthur," Guinevere says, walking into Excalibur just before closing on Monday.

Gwaine locks the door behind her and flips the sign over to read _Closed._

"Something Gwaine said at the gallery gave me an idea," Arthur says, pulling her in for a kiss. "And hello."

"Hello, yourself," she says, wrapping her arms around him, lifting her face to his again for more kisses.

"All right, break it up," Gwaine says.

"So," Gwen pulls away from Arthur, "explain."

"I want your lips tattooed on me."

"You want what?"

"Your lips. A… a kiss mark. You kissed me on the head at the show and it left a mark, and Gwaine said that it would make a brilliant tattoo…"

"You are not getting your head tattooed," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, no, no, not my head," he holds up his hands. "My chest. I would have liked it to be right over my heart, but…"

He is interrupted by Gwaine and Phil making gagging noises in the background.

" _But_ the dragon is in the way. So it'll be over here," he says, pointing to the right side of his chest.

"So, Little Sparrow, what I need from you is your lips on this piece of paper here," Gwaine says, handing her a small sheet of paper.

"On the paper?"

"Yeah, if you just printed him with the lipstick it would smear and I'd bugger it all up. And then he'd be mad, and we'd have to fight, and I'd win, and then he'd be embarrassed 'cause I kicked his arse in front of you, so it'd just be easier if you put those luscious things on this piece of paper."

Arthur sighs audibly while Gwen laughs and digs into her purse for her lipstick.

"Oh, is this going to be dark enough?" she asks, opening it. It is a soft pink.

"Probably not," Gwaine says, pondering it, raising his hand to his chin to think.

Gwen looks over to see Phil digging in a drawer by her chair. She produces a small black tube and tosses it to Gwen with a smirk.

"Thanks," Gwen says, knowing it must be the dark merlot color that Phil constantly wears.

"Men do overthink these things," she calls, chuckling.

"What?" Gwaine asks. "Oh," he says, watching Gwen open up the dark lipstick and walk to a mirror.

She applies the dark plum color, being very careful to make sure it is absolutely perfect.

"Hey, don't use it all up on those unfair lips o' yours, girlie," Phil teases.

Gwen laughs and turns back to the men, handing the lipstick back to Phil.

"Whoa," Arthur says. "You have _got_ to get that color."

"Oh, you like it?" Gwen says, looking back at the mirror. "I hadn't even really looked," she chuckles. "Not bad," she assesses.

Gwaine hands her the paper, and she ponders it a moment. "I don't want to crinkle it. It needs to be done right or it won't turn out," she says. "Take your shirt off, Arthur."

"Um, okay," he says, a little nervous because they've already shaved the section of his chest to be tattooed and Gwen hasn't seen it.

"What the…?" she asks, and laughs, walking over to touch the smooth skin.

"Can't tattoo with the hair in the way, Sweet," Arthur explains, inhaling sharply at the touch of her fingers on his skin. It's extra sensitive now without its protective coating.

"Where?" she asks.

"I want it at exactly your height, as if you were standing in front of me—"

"Like I am."

"And have just leaned forward and kissed my chest."

"Got it." She puts the piece of paper up, pressing it against his chest, then leans forward and kisses the paper.

She leans back and looks at it. "Perfect," she smiles, handing it to Gwaine.

"Very nice," he declares and sets it down. "Stay right there, Sparrow."

"Okay."

Gwaine steps over with a marker and has Gwen lean in close again, almost touching Arthur's chest with her lips.

"What are you doing?" she asks, Arthur's hands coming around her waist to steady her.

"Shh. Marking the spot." He lifts the marker and carefully draws a circle on Arthur's chest around the area where Gwen's lips are almost touching.

"There we are. Now," he takes the kiss-printed paper and takes it over to make a transfer of it.

Arthur groans and leans down, kissing Gwen passionately, as if her closeness is too much for him and he has no choice but to succumb.

"Hey, loverboy, I'm ready for you now," Gwaine calls, interrupting them.

Guinevere breaks the kiss gently and opens her eyes. She starts laughing then. "That color doesn't favor you at all, Arthur."

He growls and reaches for a paper towel, scrubbing at his lips and tossing the towel in the bin as he walks to Gwaine's chair.

Knowing he's decimated her own lipstick job, Gwen does the same, carefully rubbing the color from her own lips before reaching into her purse for another tube, clear lip gloss this time.

She pulls a stool over near them, watching, fascinated as Gwaine applies the transferred image to Arthur's chest.

"Arthur," Gwen says, uncertainty hitting her, "are you sure you want to do this?"

"What? Of course I do," he says, lifting his head up to look at her.

"It's just that… well, as you are fully aware, this is… _permanent._ "

"I know," he says, looking steadily at her, his eyes boring into her very soul.

"Oh," is all she can manage, swallowing, her heart suddenly thumping. _Is it warm in here? Why is it so warm in here?_

"May I proceed or do you two need to go do it first?" Gwaine asks with a smirk.

Arthur reaches up and smacks the back of his head. "Get to work, arse."

"What color?"

"Red," Arthur says. "Dark red."

"Okay, then…" Gwaine finds the color he wants, holding it up for Gwen and Arthur to both give their approval. He ties a bandana around his head to keep his hair out of the way, and the tattoo gun springs to life as he bends his head over his friend's chest.

Gwen watches, still fascinated by the whole process, how the needle moves so fast that the eye can't even see it, the little droplets of blood that rise to the surface, the way the excess ink smears on the surface of Arthur's skin.

"It looks like a ghastly chest wound," she says, laughing. "I mean, with the red ink and the blood and the mess."

"Don't make me laugh," Arthur says, and Gwen can see his stomach muscles taut as he tries to hold it in.

Gwaine lifts the gun and reaches for a damp paper towel, gently wiping the excess so he can see the design again. Arthur relaxes a moment, allowing himself a chuckle.

Work resumes, and Gwen holds Arthur's left hand as she watches, staying out of the way. _He's just lying there like this is nothing at all. Either it doesn't hurt that much, or he's got a very high tolerance for pain. Or he's being brave for me,_ she thinks.

"Does it hurt much?"

"A bit."

"Are you just being brave for me?"

"Yes," Gwaine answers, grinning.

" _No,_ " Arthur argues.

Halfway done, Gwen decides. "I think I want one," she says.

Gwaine stops and looks at her. "A tattoo?"

She nods.

"You. Want a tattoo," he repeats, as if trying out the words.

"Don't go getting any ideas, Gwaine, no one is touching her skin but me," Arthur says, making a preemptive strike.

"You don't work here anymore, Drag," Gwaine reminds him.

"I don't care. If anyone is tattooing Guinevere, it's going to be me," he says.

"He'd probably let me do it before he would you, Brother," Phil calls across the room, laughing.

"Hey! Have you forgotten that I am hopelessly in love with your sister?" Gwaine attempts to defend himself.

"Yes, but you're still _you,_ " Arthur answers. "I saw the way your eyes lit up with she said she wanted one. Now get back to work."

Gwaine grumbles but resumes his work, carefully tracing in each line, permanently imprinting Guinevere's lips on Arthur's chest.

"What do you think you want?" Arthur asks her, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand.

"Maybe a cute little dragon?"

Arthur's face breaks into a broad grin. "I think I could make that happen."

"Where will this cute little dragon reside, Sparrow?" Gwaine asks, still working.

"I don't know. Nowhere _visible,_ that's certain. Nowhere that my father might happen to see it."

"Guinevere, you'd better stop talking or Gwaine is going to slip," Arthur says slyly.

"I'm good," Gwaine lies, pretending he's not thinking about the various places Gwen could be talking about.

"Bloody liar. Stop thinking about my girlfriend's body and concentrate on what you're doing," Arthur says. "I'd hate to have to tattle on you to Morgana."

Gwen laughs. "How about my hip?"

"How about them?" Arthur echoes suggestively.

"Shut up," she laughs, releasing his hand to stand. "Like right… here." She points to a spot high on her hip, towards the back, where her hip meets her bum.

An hour later Gwen is half on her side, half on her stomach in Phil's chair, screen pulled, wearing a pair of her own shorts that she had loaned to Phil.

The shorts are pulled down just enough to expose the area to be inked, the little dragon Arthur drew for her now transferred to her flawless caramel hip.

"Purple. And red," Gwen declares, shifting slightly to be more comfortable.

"Your favorite and mine," Arthur comments softly, smiling. "Phil, where are the… oh, thanks." He takes the gloves she holds out for him.

"Gwaine's gone upstairs," Phil tells him. "He's pouting."

Arthur laughs, and pulls his stool up close to Gwen's hip. "Ready?"

"Yep."

He leans over and starts the tattoo gun. Then he stops it. "I don't think I can," he says suddenly.

"What?" both Phyllis and Gwen say.

"Arthur, if you're going to get all 'I can't mar you skin' on me…"

"No, it's not that," he says, his fingers touching her skin almost absentmindedly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"If you'd rather go hold her hand, I'll do the ink," Phil offers.

"You will?" Arthur asks.

"No," Gwen interrupts. "No offense, Phil, I'm sure you're brilliant. I just want Arthur to be the one to do it."

Phil nods. "Completely understood."

"So be a man and get to it, Pendragon," Gwen orders.

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks at Phil.

" _I'll_ go hold her hand, then, will that do?" she offers.

"Yes."

Phil brings another stool over and sits by Gwen's head. "Hey. You don't have to hold my hand if you don't want to."

"Does it hurt a lot?" Gwen asks.

"Depends," she shrugs.

"On what?"

"Where it is and how tough you are."

"Not very helpful," Gwen says. She is busy talking and doesn't notice the tattoo gun has turned back on.

"Well, your meatier areas are going to be less sensitive," Phil explains, leaning closer, knowing exactly what Arthur is doing. "Your bonier areas, and the areas that are more protected, will hurt more. Simple."

"So the spot I'm get _TING!_ " She yelps the last syllable when the needle makes contact with her flesh.

"Sorry, Love," Arthur says, sounding properly upset about it.

"It's… it's okay," she breathes. "You just caught me off guard."

"I know," he says, working carefully, as gently as he can.

"You all right?" Phil asks.

"Yes. It just feels like… he's carving into me with a knife," she chuckles.

"Don't laugh," Arthur says quietly.

"Sorry." She closes her eyes and reaches for Phil's hand.

"How many tattoos do you have, Phyllis?"

"Couple. I have a hummingbird and some flowers on my shoulder," she says, pointing her free hand back over her shoulder. "And I have an otter on my thigh."

Gwen opens her eyes and smiles, remembering her strange affection for the cute, sleek, mammals.

"The people in the emergency room were properly stunned by that little surprise," she laughs.

"I'll bet," Gwen says, sighing and relaxing for a moment while Arthur pauses, wiping her skin gently.

"Doing okay?" Arthur asks.

"Yes. How far are you?"

"Outline is done."

"Okay."

"We can stop now if you want. Do the color another time. Or just leave it as an outline."

"Arthur…"

"Okay."

xXx

Gwen walks home from work, happy, humming softly to herself, looking forward to going home and putting on some comfortable clothes, something soft that won't be pressing on or rubbing against the fresh and still-tender little dragon on her hip.

She reaches the intersection and sees them. _He's done at the childcare center already?_ she thinks, crossing now that the street is clear. She crosses again and approaches them, chuckling at how they used to unnerve her.

_Seems quite ridiculous now._

"Guinevere," Arthur greets her, stepping away from the group. He reaches for her and sweetly kisses her. She notices his hands are lightly stained from the paint he has to use on the concrete.

"You're done already?" she asks, squeezing him a moment before joining the others.

"Yeah, we got to a good stopping point so I begged off. It was just a bit ago, actually."

The others nod in agreement, backing him up on his story.

"And the rest of you? Wait, let me guess. Nothing going on."

"You know Tuesdays are slow, Sparrow. Never understood why, but they just are," Gwaine says with a shrug.

"Leon, shouldn't you be with Phil?" she asks.

"Migraine. I leave her alone when she has a migraine," he explains.

"She turns into a raving bitch," Gwaine explains.

"She's taking a nap," Leon says, thumping Gwaine on the head.

"How was your day?" Arthur asks, leaning against the wall and pulling her against him, spreading his feet so she can stand between them.

"Probably not as much fun as yours. Merlin's book has gone to press now, but Marcus' is _still_ not ready."

"God, that bloke has problems, doesn't he?" Arthur laughs.

"He's a huge pain in the arse is what he is, but at least he's being polite now," Gwen says, resting her head on his chest, facing Merlin. "I'm just glad I have _one_ author who has a brain," she says to him.

"And that's why I'm your favorite," he grins.

"One of the reasons. But don't get cocky, Merlin, or I'll start giving your manuscripts to someone else," she smirks at him.

"Yeah, you wouldn't do that. You've gotten far too possessive of me," Merlin laughs knowingly.

Gwen looks up at Arthur to find him studying her rather intently. "What is it, Arthur?" she asks.

"I was just thinking. About how you've done so much for me. And my friends."

"I've hardly done anything, Arthur," she protests, leaning back to look up at him.

"You've done so much, Guinevere," he insists, gently setting her upright in front of him. "And I've done nothing for you."

"Arthur—"

"So I got to thinking," he presses on, interrupting her, his blue-grey eyes still searing into her as he talks. "What could I do, what could I give you to show how much I love you, how much you mean to me?"

"Arthur—"

This time her mouth closes on its own as Arthur is digging into the pocket of his jeans. Merlin, Leon, and Gwaine step closer, curious as well.

Arthur pulls out a plastic bag full of candy. "Shit," he says, absentmindedly handing it to Merlin, who takes it, puzzled. His fingers dig deeper in and find what he is looking for. "Aha," he says, pulling his hand out of his pocket as he sinks to one knee in front of her.

Gwen gasps, her hands flying over her mouth.

Behind her, she vaguely hears a rustling and Merlin's snicker as Gwaine passes Leon a five-pound note.

"So…" Arthur holds up the ring, offering it to her, "you'll just have to settle for me, as that's all I have to give you, Guinevere. All that I am belongs to you, if you will have me and be my wife."

Gwen stares down at him, tears streaming down her smiling face. She holds her trembling left hand out for him, and he slides the ring over her finger.

"Arthur," she says at last, once she can finally speak, "why must you always ask me questions to which you already know the answers?" Then she leans down to him, kissing him, pulling him to his feet as she does so, allowing him to wrap her in his arms as they kiss passionately, forgetting the fact that they are there on the street with three of their friends standing very close by.

Gwaine starts clapping then, a grin splitting his face, and Merlin and Leon join in. Merlin even whistles, which causes the couple to break apart, laughing now, blushing.

Gwen finally looks down at the ring. It's a lovely, understated gold ring with a single round diamond, modestly sized, set in such a way that the gold appears swirled around it. The central stone is flanked by a small row of baguette diamonds on either side. She smiles at it and indulgently holds it up to catch the sunlight.

"I know it's not much," Arthur starts, "but I knew you'd kill me if I spent _all_ my money on it and the guy at the store said that I can always get a bigger diamond later, and I know I could have spent more and financed it, but I really didn't want to do that, and—"

"Arthur," Gwen says, looking at him, silencing him with a kiss. "Shut up. And don't even _think_ about swapping this diamond out for a bigger one."

"Shit, Arthur, that's a large enough diamond," Gwaine says peeking over Gwen's shoulder at it.

Leon looks now. "It's three-quarter carats at least," he agrees. Gwen gives him a strange look.

"Been doing a bit of ring shopping myself," he mutters sheepishly.

Gwen smiles at him and sighs. "Gentlemen, I don't _care_ how big the diamond is," she says. "It's what it represents that is the important part. Which is why it is _not going to get replaced later, no matter how much money we have,_ " she states pointedly.

"Okay, okay," Arthur holds his hands up. Then he takes her left hand in his and looks down at the ring there. "Now you're really mine, you know," he grins.

"Oh? I believe I just heard you say that it is you who now belongs to me," she says, pulling his lips back to hers.

"Completely," he answers, nuzzling her nose with his own.

Merlin clears his throat.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur asks, not looking away from Guinevere.

"Why didn't you tell me? I didn't even know you bought a ring!"

Arthur looks over at his friend. "You see her far too often, and you couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it."

"I can so! I never told anyone about how Morgana used to call you—"

Arthur puts his hand over Merlin's mouth. Gwen presses her lips together, trying not to laugh. "You just proved his point, Merlin," she says, letting her laughter go now.

Merlin pouts, so Gwen hugs him. Arthur even gives him a one-armed pseudo-hug.

"All right, I forgive you, jeez," Merlin complains.

"Come on," Arthur says, taking Gwen's hand in his. "I want to take you out."

"The only place I want you to take me right now is home," Gwen says, leaning up to kiss him.

"Mmm." Arthur is convinced. "Later, guys," he calls over his shoulder as he and Gwen walk home.

xXx

Two hours later, Gwen looks up at Arthur from his chest where her head is currently resting. "Who else do we need to call?" she asks, kissing his neck.

"More? I'm so cozy," he complains, squeezing her tightly. She slides her foot along his leg.

"I'm not saying you need to get dressed, Arthur," she says, dragging her fingernails down his stomach, tempting fate.

"Watch your hand there, woman. That's how the phone calls got interrupted in the first place," he warns, leaning down to kiss her fully nevertheless.

"What's Morgana's number?" Gwen says, rolling away suddenly.

"Hey! You're pulling the blanket with you!"

"Number," she reminds him. He tells her the number and she dials, waiting.

"Hi Morgana, this is your future sister-in-law calling," Gwen says, grinning into the phone.

"I KNEW IT!" Morgana yells, and Gwen has to pull the phone away from her ear, causing Arthur to chuckle.

They chat a bit, Gwen giving her the details of the proposal and how Merlin was disappointed he wasn't in on the secret.

"He never could keep his mouth closed," Morgana laughs.

"That's what Arthur said."

"Well congratulations to you both, you have no idea how happy I am for you," Morgana says.

"Thank you, Morgana. Have to run now, got a couple more calls to make."

"'Bye, love."

Gwen hangs up. She turns to Arthur, bringing the phone to sit on the bed between them.

"Call your father," she says. Orders.

Arthur pulls the blanket over his face and groans.

"Arthur…"

"He already knows," Arthur says from beneath the blanket.

"What?"

He pulls the blanket down. "He already knows. I bought the ring the day I talked to him at the duck pond. I had it already then."

"You showed it to him?"

He nods.

"Call him anyway. He doesn't know that you've _done_ it, only that you were planning to."

He sighs and picks up the handset, dialing the number.

"Hello, Joseph, this is Arthur. Is my father free?"

"His butler answers the phone?" Gwen asks. "Ooo, posh," she teases. Arthur pokes her in the ribs.

"Hello, Arthur," Uther's tired voice comes through.

"Were you sleeping?"

"Not yet. Soon, though. To what do I owe this dubious honor?"

"I asked her. Guinevere. We're going to be married," Arthur says, smiling warmly at her.

"Good. I was wondering when I didn't see it on her hand Saturday night," Uther says.

"I just did this evening, actually."

"I'm… I'm not the last to know, am I?" Uther asks, sounding as though he would be disappointed if he was.

"No, actually. Gwen hasn't told her mother yet. They're not exactly close. And her brother lives in Chicago, so who knows about him."

"Ah. Well, congratulations. She will be good for you."

"She already has been, Father."

"Yes, I know. Keep her happy, Son…" he says. He sounds like he wants to say more, but he doesn't.

 _Because you never know when you might lose her_ Arthur mentally fills in, and suddenly the sadness always on his father's shoulders makes too much sense.

"I will, Dad. I will."

"Good. If you need anything at all for the wedding, let me know. Anything."

"Oh. Um, thanks. We'll let you know. Go to bed, Dad."

"Good night, Arthur."

"Why so sad?" Gwen says.

"Mum," Arthur says, shrugging.

"Oh," Gwen answers, understanding. She takes the phone and puts it back on the nightstand. "Come here," she pulls him to her, and they lie back down.

"I think I want to give him the painting of her," Arthur says, his head on her chest now. "Retirement present, I guess."

"I think that would be lovely," Gwen says.

"I love you so much, Guinevere," he says, lifting his head and softly closing his lips over hers.


	48. Epilogue

1997

"Thomas, turn that shit down or find somebody better to listen to!" Arthur yells up the stairs to his 14-year-old son.

"Sorry!" Thomas' voice comes floating down. "Blame Matt, he's the one that likes them— ow!"

"It's not _my_ CD, Uncle!" Matt's voice interrupts, after obviously smacking Thomas.

"Arthur…" Guinevere says with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, I just cannot stomach the Smashing Pumpkins," he says, turning his attention back to the hallway closet, continuing his search for his old art box.

"Yes, the lead singer does tend to whine, I know," she indulgently says, making a mark on Merlin's latest manuscript with her red pen, now on its thousandth refill. "And Merlin has yet to learn the proper usage of a comma," she mutters.

"He says that's what he has you for," Arthur's voice from the closet replies.

"Oh, does he now?" Gwen raises an eyebrow and makes another mark on the page.

Upstairs, Billy Corgan's caterwauling is cut off abruptly and is replaced by the Stone Temple Pilots and Scott Weiland's seductive growl.

"Better?" Thomas' voice comes floating down.

"Yes!" both Arthur and Gwen yell.

"And why are you working on that now, Guinevere? It's Saturday."

"I'm engrossed."

"You're mental. You're the editor-in-chief, remember? You can relax a little."

"Precisely why I can't." She looks at him. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps I _enjoy_ my work? Particularly when it's something of Merlin's."

"Yes, yes, your pet author, _everyone_ knows," he rolls his eyes.

"You know I have to hold myself to a higher standard now that I run the damn place," she says, looking back at the binder in her lap. "What kind of chief would I be if I slacked off while the rest of my editors worked their asses off?"

He snorts. "You'd be a normal boss, probably."

"Yeah. That's the last thing I want. And besides, if I didn't give my all, Will would probably come back from the grave and haunt me."

"Yes, I can see it now, writing appearing all over the walls, in blood, all intentionally misspelled and with improper grammar and punctuation," he says sarcastically, poking his head out of the closet and wiggling his fingers at her.

Gwen chuckles at him and stubbornly makes another correction to the manuscript. Arthur sighs and ducks back into the closet.

Suddenly Arthur starts to laugh. "Oh, my God," he says, staring at an old Polaroid he's withdrawn from the now-found art box.

"What?" Gwen asks, looking up. He comes over and hands her the photo. It is an old shot of the two of them, Arthur with his black Mohawk, nose ring, and all, Gwen pressed to his side, young and sweet and fresh in her red dress.

"It's from my first opening at Lance's," he says, smiling.

"I remember. You should take this to work on Monday. Your students would love it," Gwen says, studying the picture.

"I don't work at the university on Monday. That's one of my painting days, remember?" he says.

"I can never keep your ever-changing schedule straight," she says. "Last term you did work Mondays. This one, apparently not."

Arthur chuckles, bending to sit beside her on the couch. "Move it, Vin," he says, shooing the patchwork mess of a cat from his spot curled against Gwen's hip. Thomas brought the cat home five years ago, a limp, half-starved excuse for a kitten with dirty, matted fur. He was missing most of one ear, so Arthur immediately dubbed him _Vincent van Cat_ and went to fetch a saucer of milk from the kitchen. Vin uncurls, stands and stretches, then walks across Gwen's lap (purposefully padding across Merlin's manuscript) to settle on her other side, allowing Arthur to sink down next to her on the sofa, where he leans his head on her shoulder.

"My students already worship the ground I walk on, if they see that I have a gorgeous wife too, they'll start thinking that they can all have everything," he tells her, nuzzling her with his nose a little.

"Ah, yes, it's so nice to see that your success still hasn't gone to your head at all, even after all this time," she teases him, lifting her hand to caress his cheek. She looks down at the photo. "God, look how young I was."

"You're more beautiful now, you know," he says, turning his head to kiss her neck.

"I can't say I miss the Mohawk," she says, reaching up and running her fingers through his soft blonde hair as he continues kissing her neck. Her eyes drift closed.

"Gross."

They open their eyes to see their son at the bottom of the stairs, hands on his hips. Moments later his partner in crime comes bounding down.

Born only a week apart, they've been nigh inseparable since. Matthew looks so like Merlin, thin and pale with dark hair, large ears and bright blue eyes, that Freya often jokes that if it weren't for Matthew's skill with numbers and the fact that she was there when he was born, she would suspect cloning.

"Oh, come off it, Tom," Matt laughs.

Thomas makes a disgusted noise. "It's bad enough that they've got that… that _painting_ of Mum in their room that I have to see if I go in there, but it's even worse to walk in and find them snogging on the couch." He sticks his tongue out and makes a gagging noise.

"Shut it, you, we weren't snogging. Not _yet,_ " Arthur teases, sitting up straight once again. "You should be thankful that your mum and I still love each other."

"Yeah," Matthew says, poking him. "You know Rob? You don't want that mess, mate. His parents hate each other."

"Right," Thomas allows, running his fingers through his tousled mop of caramel-colored curls. "You wouldn't be so cool if it were _your_ parents snogging on the couch."

Thomas laughs now as Matthew's mouth snaps closed.

"His parents _have_ snogged on this couch," Arthur mutters, and Gwen smacks him.

"Shh."

"What are you looking at?" Thomas notices the photo in Arthur's hand and walks over.

Grinning, Arthur holds out the photo.

"Who's the bloke with the Mohawk with Mum?" Thomas asks. Matt comes up and looks over his shoulder.

Arthur raises both hands and pushes his hair up between them, holding it vertically between his palms at the top of his head.

"That's _you?_ "

Arthur nods, arranging his hair back to its normal state.

"I mean, I knew about the tattoos, but earrings _and_ a nose ring, Dad?" He peers at Arthur's face, looking for signs of the holes.

"They closed up years ago, Son."

"That's what your dad looked like when I met him, Thomas," Gwen says, laughing at him.

He looks at his mother, a puzzled expression on his face. "I don't think I want to know," he decides, and looks back down at the photo.

"Wow, Auntie, you were… kind of, um, hot," Matt observes.

"Thank you," she says, chuckling.

"What do you mean, 'were?'" Arthur asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Okay, I think I'm going to be sick," Thomas says, handing the photo back to Arthur just as a car horn honks outside.

"About time, Dad," Matthew grumbles.

"Where are you two off to?" Arthur asks.

Thomas looks towards the door. "Uncle Merlin promised to take me and Matt to see _Men in Black,_ remember?"

"Oh yeah," Arthur says.

"You want to come, Dad?"

Arthur looks at Gwen. "Nah, I'm good. You guys go have fun."

"What's Auntie up to while you boys are at the movies?" Gwen asks, wondering if she should give Freya a call.

"Um, something about taking the twins to their ballet class, I think," Matt says, following Thomas towards the door.

"Ahem," Gwen says, clearing her throat.

"Sorry, Mum," Thomas turns back, jogs over to Gwen, plants a kiss on her cheek, and trots back to the door.

"Thank you," she says. "Oh, and tell Uncle that I'll have these corrections to him by Monday," she calls after him, and he waves his hand, acknowledging he's heard her.

"Have fun," Arthur adds.

The door closes, and Arthur leans back over and places another soft, wet kiss on her neck, and another, and another. "House to ourselves," he mutters against her skin, reaching over and removing the red pen from her hand.

"Arthur…" Gwen protests, but weakly, as the binder is already sliding from her lap. She pulls his lips to hers and it clatters to the floor. A startled Vin leaps down, twitching his crooked tail in an irritated fashion, freeing the couch so that Arthur can lean over his wife, pressing her back against the cushions.

Then the phone rings.

"Bloody _fucking_ hell," Arthur curses.

"Some things never change," Gwen snickers as Arthur answers the phone.

"Hello," he snaps. "Oh, hi Tom, sorry. No, not at all." He listens a moment. "Tonight? I didn't realize you were in town."

"Dad's in town? He wasn't supposed to be here till next week," Gwen says, looking at Arthur, who shrugs.

"No, it's just that my father's having us all over tonight for his birthday.” Another pause. “Us, Merlin and Freya, and Morgana and Gwaine. I'll call him and tell him you and Hunith are coming."

Guinevere chuckles, knowing exactly what her father is saying.

"It'll be _fine,_ Tom. He likes you, remember?" Arthur smiles at her, then says, "Yes, he does… All right then. Seven… No, casual." He is about to say goodbye, then falls silent for another moment. "Um, did you bring any of that Sherry he likes from Ibiza? That… Right. See you then. 'Bye."

Arthur hangs up and then says, "And now I'm off to do naughty things to your little girl."

Gwen laughs, standing now. "Aren't you going to call your father?"

"After. Big dragon wants his little dragon first," he says, smirking at her. He pulls her tight against him, running his hands along her still-slender body.

Arthur leans down to kiss her, his lips soft and pliant against hers, warm and seductive. Gwen threads her fingers up through his hair and pulls gently away, staring up at him. _My knees still turn to water. My body still cries out for him._

She slides her hands down to rest on either side of his face, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"What is it?" he quietly asks.

"You still give me butterflies. Even after all this time," she answers just as softly, pressing against him a bit.

"Only butterflies?" he teases, nibbling at her lips.

"Okay, bloody great… dragons… flapping around, then…" she manages between his nibbling kisses.

"Better," he says, bunching her shirt in his fists for a moment as he kisses her, delving deeper now. She arches up into him, winding a leg around his, poking her bare toes up under the cuff of his trousers.

"Oh, you…" he growls, pulling away, sliding his hand down her arm to take her hand and lead her up to their bedroom.


End file.
